Rite of Passage
by TheForgottenName
Summary: When Batman goes missing, Tim's left completely on his own. During the day, he is simply Tim Drake-Wayne, sudden overseer to Wayne Enterprises. At night, he is Robin, and he's on a mission to find Batman. But not everything is as it seems, and Tim may just be in over his head. Failure is always an option.
1. Chapter 1

Hola Amigos, I'm back. 20 years later, I've got a new Batman tale to tell.

Take Note: this story is completely finished, and I'll be uploading a new chapter once a week.

This first chapters just a little epilogue to get your appetite wet, so stay tuned for next weeks chapter!

* * *

A triple axle flip with a double spin and a graceful landing. Three were knocked out from that one move alone. The air changes. Dodge back. The last thug threw his punch too hard. He threw himself off balance. He's spinning. He's tripping. He's falling. But his forehead recoils back as he descends to the ground. His trip down was met with a armored knee heading upwards.

The alleyway is silent.

Tim wastes no time tying the thugs up. It only takes 22.3 seconds. And now the police is on their way. Tim is long gone by time they get there. He's sitting atop a gargoyle, his favorite place to rest and think while on patrol, surveying the streets.

Within the hour, he's saved 4 near rape victims, stopped 7 muggings, scared off 5 would be thieves, and rescued a cat from a tree. And from all of that, besides the cat that had scratched him in the hand, he was injury-free. The cat got lucky because he'd had his gloves off. Rookie mistake. Wouldn't happen again.

He pressed his ear piece twice. Quickly. He waited. Static. No response from Batman. This was the third night with no response. He dreaded going home because no Batman meant no Bruce Wayne. He was unsure how to cover for the both of them. Keeping an appearance at night was easy enough. No one knew Batman was missing just yet. Few saw him anyway, they only saw his aftermath. Tim just had to do his job. Villains never expected Batman to be too far from him. They ran from Tim, because they knew he was never alone. Whoever messed with him, messed with Batman.

Keeping an appearance during the day was much harder. Bruce Wayne was nothing like Batman, and that meant that Bruce had no problem being in the limelight. His sudden silence, both publicly and with Wayne Enterprises was suspicious.

And the sudden, simultaneous muteness from Batman and Bruce Wayne would be a catastrophe. So Tim had to play both roles for now.

And that was hard, considering he was simply 18. Not 'only 18', because he'd proven that being 18 meant nothing less than, say, being 25. No, he was in no way 'only 18'. Just 'simply 18'. It was a fact. Not a privilege, but not a hindrance either.

He double tapped his earpiece once more. Static. He shook his head, standing up. It was late, and at the moment, he was a high schooler, nighttime vigilante, and CEO to a multibillion dollar company. He needed his rest.

He shot his grappling hook, and within a half hour he was dragging himself through the empty hallways of Wayne Manor. He held his mask in his hand as he climbed up the stairs to his bedroom. He already knew his shades were drawn (a habit he'd forced on himself), so he did not fear someone spotting him in half uniform.

Opening the door to his bedroom, he knew what he wanted to see. A clean, neat, OCD-approved, bedroom with vacuumed floors, alphabetized bookcases, and a bed made so tight you could bounce a coin off of it. That was what he was used to seeing. But instead, he entered a room of expected horror and mess.

Open files with papers spilling out of them lined his bed. His laptop was open, currently logged out, but Tim knew crime files were online waiting for him to obsess over. The floor was littered with photographs and broken equipment; things Tim had felt were important and recovered or photographed from the crime scene, before the police had arrived. His bookshelves and cases were out of order from his distracted reading and inattentive mission. He'd taken books down, flipped through them, and blindly put them back on the shelves without looking. It was things like that that he remembered as he was trying to fall asleep, and would bug and itch at him until he'd flip a light on and put his books back in order.

"Go to bed." he muttered to himself. "Go to bed. Go to bed. Go to bed."

Somehow, his speaking aloud to himself was supposed to do a better job at convincing him to listen to self reason. But even he knew he was speaking halfheartedly to himself, and he ignored reason. He closed his bedroom door (habit) and sat on the floor Indian style. There were so many photographs, papers, and scraps of equipment that his OCD threatened to take over and organize. But he pushed those thoughts to the back of his head, where he stored most of his childish and irrational thoughts and emotions.

He picked through the equipment, putting them into different piles. This was not irrational organizing, he reasoned, this was professional managing. Holding a scrap of ripped, black material, he knew immediately that it was part of the bat-suit. But he was never one to rely completely on himself, so after grabbing his laptop off of his bed and connecting to the batcave's main computer, he took his scanner out of his belt and ran an analysis test.

The test bleeped in 3.1 seconds and the results came back positive. This was a shred from Batman's suit. But while the material was sturdy, it was not so heavy. It was durable, strong enough to take on light to medium blows, very hard to rip, coated in fireproof material and had a stiffness to it that suggested not just lastingness, but a unintentional fashion statement as well. This was not a part of the suit itself, it was part of the cape. That fact made Tim feel better. When fighting strong or powered heroes, Batman often ripped his cape.

Better a ripped cape than a dislocated shoulder.

Batman's cape in particular was especially designed to aid him in fights against strong enemies. It was long, but did not stretch much, so in times of need, Batman could easily use it to choke enemies, cover their heads for a short time while he performed some form of attack, shield him against blows, explosions, and far off gunshots.

Ripped capes did not worry Tim.

His own cape, for example, was different. Batman usually handled the large and dangerous villains, and Tim mostly dealt with damage control. Something he silently protested, because he was just as skilled as Harley Quinn at this point, and everyday he was only getting better. But Batman gave the orders, and so he had no use of a heavy cape like Batman.

Instead, his cape was lightweight, stretchy, padded, and flexible. It's main purpose was to protect him against the elements and his environment. Fireproof, bulletproof, but lightweight enough not to slow him down, his cape could easily open up to slow his descent, matte so that it did not reflect light should he be hiding, soft enough to cushion him in case he fell backwards, and short enough so that villains could not use it to choke him or use it too much to their own advantage.

Batman's cape helped protect the innocent. Tim's cape helped protect him.

He set the ripped material to the side. A small _bzzt_ made him turn his attention to a broken and now defective batarang. The black bat-shaped object was broken right down the middle and little white and blue sparks jumped out of the wires opening. Tim hadn't found the other half of the batarang at the crime scene, but he'd supposed that that really hadn't been an important object to obtain. He only took this piece because it reminded him that their had been a fight.

Clearly a struggle.

And the use of batarangs suggested that either Batman was fighting someone who he felt needed to be injured before he approached, or he had needed to turn off some electrical outlet, like a light, from afar. Finding the other half of the batarang would have helped Tim figure out more of the case, but since he hadn't been able to find it, this half of batarang told no story.

He set this aside too. A small tale was unfolding. Slowly, but surely. There had been no security tapes, no recorded audio, no outgoing or incoming transmissions. Just a blown warehouse. If Batman hadn't of disappeared, there would be no suggestions of an interesting crime at the scene at all.

Tim turned his attention to his computer. He went through the bat-computers records of criminals and matched that to the GCPD's records of jailed and escaped baddies from Arkham. The Joker was behind bars, but Harley wasn't, so that could mean something. Penguin wasn't behind bars, nor was Catwoman (who never had actually been caught, but was still wanted). The Creeper was lose, Scarecrow was lose, Two Face was lose, Poison Ivy was lose, and Killer Croc was lose. That was a whole gang escaped from Arkham.

In his spare time, perhaps he should look into upgrading and updating Arkham's security. Security was tight, but it was nowhere near perfect. And for so many villains to be lose right now meant it was further than he'd thought.

The grandfather clock in the main foyer downstairs chimed, signaling it was 3 o'clock, and with great self restraint, Tim cleaned up his room. It took him nearly an hour to get everything to a level of cleanness that he could sleep in, but once in bed, he lay restlessly, staring at his ceiling. His large room had scared him when he'd moved in, when he was 13. In just a few months time, he'd have been a Wayne for 5 years. And yet, he still felt like a Drake.

Which in all honesty meant nothing.

True, his parents had had money. But that was the only legacy they'd left him. His father had secretly been a crooked thief. And not even a thief worth mentioning. Compared to the thieves Tim faced, his father had been pathetic. Not even close to the big leagues. Not that that would have been something to be proud of, of course. He put criminals small and large alike behind bars.

But yet again, none of that mattered. His parents were dead. Poisoned some years back on a business trip by some Voo-Doo psycho. Batman had taken care of it, so he was told not to worry. But he couldn't help sometimes hating that he hadn't been apart of the takedown of his parents murderer. He'd already been Robin when the case was solved, but Batman felt he was too involved, and so like always, Tim had obeyed without a moment's hesitation.

How did he get on that train of thought? If he was going to be up all night, he needed to be thinking intelligently. He pushed his stupid childish thoughts to the back of his mind. He was no baby. His parents hadn't even loved him, really. They'd run off on their business trip and left him at a boarding school. And when they'd died, and he received the news in a letter, stuck in a dorm room with a boy who ate way too much cheese, he hadn't cried. He'd just folded the letter up, put it in his dresser, and went to class.

He was good at bottling his emotions.

 _But nevermind that_ , he told himself, _think intelligently_. Think about Bruce. What had he been doing in that warehouse?

* * *

Sooooo, what'd you think? Leave a review and let me know. PM me or just favorite and follow this story. Even though I've finished writing it, I still love feedback and inspiration, so don't leave me hanging dudes!

_TheForgottenName


	2. Publically Addressed

I'm back with part 2 guys. This is probably about the length of the chapters that follow, which isn't very short but not impossibly long, either, I don't think.

Anyway, we're diving a little deeper into the real plot in this chappie, so enjoy!

* * *

Perhaps it was exhaustion. Or perhaps he'd over-thought himself to sleep. But by the time 6 o'clock came around, and his alarm began beeping, all Tim wanted to do was scream. He _could_ skip school. There was no one around to tell him otherwise. But once Bruce returned, he would find out, and Tim wanted to prove that he'd held down the fort honorably. And then, their was also his perfect attendance at stake.

After a quick shower and fresh outfit, Tim was less drowsy. Truthfully, he only needed 10 minutes to fully wake up, no matter how much sleep he'd gotten. But during those 10 minutes...? It was like he was reverted to a normal, non-trained, 18 year old. He stumbled around, stubbed his toes, walked into walls. It was like he was on drugs or something.

It was while he was in the kitchen, microwaving a frozen breakfast sandwich Alfred had made (he could easily remember hearing Alfred say in his accent: those box sandwiches are absolutely atrocious, no, no, no, homemade ones are _much_ better) that Tim realized the time. He'd missed his bus, which personally, Tim believed was a goal of the bus driver. And while Tim could run all the way to school quite fine, he didn't favor that route so early in the morning. If he hurried, he could make it to the next stop.

He grabbed his sandwich prematurely out of the microwave, put it in his mouth (yeah, it was just as hot as he'd thought it would be) and threw his book bag over his shoulder. He walked out the house backwards, the sandwich still in his mouth, his jacket half on, one hand pulling his tied sneaker on, and the other hand locking the door.

When he turned to face the world on that cold January morning, he was first met with a flash of light. And then another. And then another. His pupils shrunk at the bright lights.

This would be an attractive front cover.

He pulled the sandwich from his mouth, ignored the chatter that went up from the dozens of reporters and cameramen, and tried to make his way through the crowd. The past two days they'd been there, but he'd snuck out the back and avoided them all together. Today, his rush to the bus had made him forget, and now, he had to fight them.

"Tim, wheres Bruce?"

"Tim, are you always this late to school?"

"Where's that butler?"

"Do you have any comments on the Wigify Satellite?"

"Do you agree with your father's decision to bring it to Gotham?"

"Can you confirm that the Wigify is currently in the basement of Wayne Enterprises?"

"Does Bruce care about the threat of terrorists?"

Questions. Questions. Everyone wanted to know something. Tim simply ignored them and kept walking. He wasn't much better at reporters than he had been when he'd first moved in with Bruce. Of course, then, Dick had been there to bail him out. And Dick was a natural when it came to people. Tim…? Tim much rather preferred to be alone. Or rather, he preferred not to be pressured to answer questions he had no business answering.

The Wigify Satellite seemed to be the top news at the moment. Bruce had commissioned its design probably a year or so ago and now it was finished and ready for testing. Wigify was an artificial intelligence satellite designed to orbit the sun, accurately tracking and reporting it's solar blasts. This information could better help predict the weather.

(It also would help Batman out a ton, since the Wigify was in a prime orbit to connect to other satellites and scan the earth at lightspeed.)

The crowd followed Tim across the grass (sorry, Alfred) slowly, as Tim knew they would. Cameras were heavy, women wore heels, and reporters had to watch their step or else they'd fall on live television. But Tim had none of those issues, so the moment his feet hit the concrete of the sidewalk, he broke into a sprint.

This was not unusual for him, and most of the reporters cursed at him, but let him go. A few though, mainly young, ignorant, and spirited ones, attempted to follow him. But none of them followed him for long. In a few moments, he'd gained blocks on them. They did not have the stamina to pursue him. They did not have the energy to keep up with him. And they did not have Robin's legs.

Tim made it to the next bus stop early enough to finish his sandwich, and though it was out of character for him, he smirked at the bus driver who'd seemed especially happy until she'd seen him. For some reason, this bus driver hated him. But it did not matter. He had a secret with her. She'd been returning the bus to the lot, one day, when Firefly had had blown up the bridge she was crossing. Batman had dealt with Firefly, but Robin had saved this woman.

If she knew Tim was Robin, she would probably hate him less. Probably.

Tim always sat at the front of the bus. Those spots were always empty, and he could get off first because everyone else wanted to sit at the back of the bus. When the bus pulled up to the school, Tim was out first, on his way to his locker before most of the kids got off the bus.

School was nothing but a mission to Tim. He had but 3 objectives: take notes in every class, make it to every class on time, and hand in homework/ace quizzes and tests. As long as those objectives were met, Bruce was happy, and that was a mission well done. Of course, there were little targets to complete in between the objectives, but focusing on the main ones helped Tim make it through days faster.

His first class was Conceptual Physics, his easiest class of the day. So after stopping briefly at his locker, he marched down the hallways to his class.

* * *

He hadn't even _said_ anything. He'd just been walking down the hallway at the end of the school day. Of course he'd heard them coming. Of course he'd already anticipating their next move. At their trajectory and speed, there had been no way they were aiming for anyone but him. He'd counted 62 different ways to quickly outsmart, outrun, outfight, and outbeat the captain of the football team and his little league of assassins. But as far as anyone knew, Tim was just Tim. Hadn't even had a karate lesson. So when the football team seized him, and shoved him in a locker, he was counting to 10 not out of fear or panic, but out of an attempt at self control.

Oh, if he could just beat them up a _little_. He'd be content for the rest of the year, he was sure. He could have the whole team on the marble floors in 3.6 seconds, and, he could make it look like an accident. Despite the fact that they each weighed at least 100 pounds more than him, was at least twice his height and five times his stature.

But Bruce would have a conniption if Tim did something other than cry and beg, so that was how he ended up in a locker. No crying and begging, but no fighting either.

He heard the team and entire school, it seemed, laughing as the halls cleared and emptied. They thought they were leaving him there frightened and screaming for help. But Tim was only waiting for them to leave so that he could kick the door off of the locker. He could of picked the lock from the inside, no problem, but at the moment, he just wanted to go home.

He left school out the back and walked down the crowded streets of Gotham. Usually, Alfred would have met him in the front, and he'd be driven home. But Alfred had gone back to England to help 'revive', as Tim called it, a sick friend back to health. After years with the bat family, Alfred could do more than just cure and heal and stitch and bandage. No, he could _revive_.

Alfred wouldn't be back for another two weeks. He'd have returned sooner, of course, if Tim had told him Bruce was missing. Alfred didn't baby him, but he wouldn't leave him home alone either. So Tim didn't bother the man with the issue just yet, hoping to give Alfred more time in his hometown.

Tim hiked his backpack up higher and went into a nearby coffee shop. When he walked home, he usually stopped to get himself coffee, if only because he knew Bruce disapproved of him drinking it. Stunting his growth and all that. But Bruce wasn't exactly 'paternal' so Tim's coffee drinking was usually only met with a mild bat-glare.

As Tim waited for his coffee to be ready, he stared at the menu displayed in bold letters on the wall. He calculated that that total price of everything in the store came to $756.39. It took him 5.2 seconds to get that answer. He liked numbers. They were exact. They didn't change. Didn't fail. Adding two certain numbers would never deviate. It was constant.

He liked consistency more than anything.

The door jingled as two men entered the store. A quick glance around, and Tim found that he could see the customers through the reflection of the coffee pot behind the counter. He didn't want to turn around to seem obvious, but he didn't necessarily like people behind him, either, so he watched the two men through the coffee pot.

They were both tall, at least 6'3". The taller one walked with a slight limp, was approx. 180 pounds, sandy blonde hair, gray eyes, most likely in his late 50's. The shorter one bounced when he walked, had a much faster gait than the other guy, probably 170- something pounds, had a small scar above his eyebrow, black hair and brown eyes.

Tim analyzed everyone that way. It was not that these men seemed suspicious, but it was simply that they were in his presence. If Tim turned around and looked at them, instead of speculating through the reflection of a small coffee pot, he could get a lot more details about these men. But as it were, his coffee was finished.

"-warehouse 14." the taller man was saying as he approached the counter besides Tim, "Blew to smithereens few days ago. Boss said it was no accident."

Tim smiled as he payed for his coffee, but his brain was reeling and his free hand already had his phone out. He walked away from the counter as he typed in access codes on his phone. In 1.3 seconds, the security in the coffee shop was hacked. He put his phone back in his pocket, pulled out an ear phone and left the shop.

"-musta been some incident then. Police just finished setting up a crime scene yesterday."

The audio coming in through Tim's earphones weren't accompanied by any visual feedback, so to normal Gotham citizens, Tim simply waltzed down the street with a coffee and his headphones in.

Warehouse 14 was Batman's last logged position. At the time of the explosion, the one that had destroyed the warehouse and the intercom connection Batman and Robin had been linked to, Tim had been on the other side of the pier. Batman had never told him what they were doing by the docks. He'd never explained why Tim was sent to the other side of the pier while Batman searched the warehouse. Tim had simply given a curt nod and agreed. As he always did. He wasn't one to question Batman.

When the entire warehouse blew, though, Tim had rushed to warehouse 14. But everything was over and settled by time he arrived. Batman was gone, no evidence was left, and he was on his own. He'd searched around for hours, tapping his earpiece, taking pictures, and gathering evidence. There were no hidden doors, though. No underground tunnels, no secret passages in the water. Just a flattened area full of scrap and rubbish where warehouse 14 had once been.

"Hope no one was hurt." came the feed once more.

"Yeah, must have been something faulty in that warehouse. Doubt anyone was nearby. It was abandoned anyway."

Tim reached into his pocket and cut the hack without looking. Those men knew nothing. They were just up to date on the news.

Tim was a few blocks from home when a black car pulled up beside him. His muscles tensed, but not visibly, as the front window rolled down, and a woman beckoned to him.

"Hey, Vivian." Tim said, approaching the car.

Vivian Landon was Bruce's office assistant. She was his... what, 40th assistant? She bore the same characteristics though as all the others. Tall, pretty, wore clothes that were way too tight and way too short. Tim didn't even need to know her to know she worked for Bruce.

If he was to run into someone from the Wayne foundation, Tim would have preferred Luscious. Luscious Fox was like a grandfather (second to Alfred, of course). The man had babysat him, entertained him, and helped him with homework whenever he'd been stuck at Wayne Enterprises with Bruce when he was younger.

"Have seen Bruce, Tim?" Vivian asked, and Tim noted that it wasn't like her to skip greetings.

She was always very formal. Less formal than Alfred, but more formal than most of Bruce's assistants.

"He's snowboarding with some friends in Switzerland." Tim said.

He noted this story to himself. He hadn't spoken of Bruce at all until that moment, but now that it was out, he had to keep it up. Switzerland was a hard place to get a hold of, but it was also very expensive and crowds similar to Bruce's rank often visited. It wasn't a half bad lie.

Vivian simply unlocked the doors, and Tim took it as an invitation. He got in the backseat, a old habit. Alfred never let him sit up front.

"What's wrong?" Tim asked, as Vivian pulled off.

"The Wigify," Vivian began, "Photos have been leaked of it in the Wayne tech building. The public is in a frenzy and the reporters are beating down the doors. We needed Bruce to make a public announcement. Someone needs to put the people at ease, else they'll break down the doors and destroy the thing themselves. They're afraid that if a terrorist got a hold of the thing, it could destroy the entire United States in less than a minute."

"And... what do you want me to do?" Tim asked, slowly. "I haven't spoken to Bruce in three days. I don't know how to reach him."

So very true.

"Doesn't matter." Vivian said, "You're the next best thing."

Tim wasn't sure what that meant, but he was pretty sure he didn't like it.

* * *

Once at Wayne Enterprises, Tim spent a good two hours in Bruce's office doing his homework. He had finished his homework in under a half hour, but he checked, and rechecked until just the sight of the pages made him sick. Luscious popped into the room every now and then. He'd check something on the computer, or grab some papers or books from the shelf, and then run off.

Another hour passed, and Tim had Bruce's assistant order him Chinese food. But that was the most exciting thing to happen, and it was making him anxious and itchy. Every minute he spent as Tim Wayne doing civilian things, was a minute away from being Robin, looking for Batman. He'd mentally went over all the evidence he had though, while spinning in circles in Bruce's chair and staring at the ceiling. But no matter how he looked at things, he couldn't figure anything new out. And that was both frustrating and angering.

He was so used to having the upper hand and being able to figure things out in short amounts of time. Who knew if Batman was being tortured right now? Who knew if he was only minutes away from death at that very minute? All the delaying on his part could cost Batman his life... and Tim his father.

No, he couldn't allow that to happen. If he couldn't figure it out on his own, then he'd ask for help. There was no shame in that. He liked help. Sometimes, anyway.

And the first person he thought to go to for help was none only but his oldest brother. His closest brother. Jason was dead, so Dick was really his _only_ brother, but mentally, it seemed disrespectful to disregard Jason completely.

At the moment, Dick was in Jump City with the teen titans. No doubt they were busy, but Dick would make time for Tim. Especially with the problem he had.

Tim breathed a sigh of relief. He had a plan for now, at least, and he felt grounded. He was no longer floundering around in thin air looking for a way to tell which way was left and right. Now, he at least knew a direction to head in.

He had just finished writing a quick note for Luscious and was about to head back to the manor to change before Luscious himself ran into the room.

"Timothy," Luscious said, "We have a problem."

Tim was led down to one of many conference rooms. The giant rectangular room was full of men and women in suits, with tight buns, and clean shaven faces. They all looked very grim.

"In Bruce's absence," Luscious said, "Timothy here will have to represent the company."

Tim looked around himself quickly. He couldn't believe what Luscious had just said. Obviously, there was some other Tim in the room. The Tim _he_ knew, had on converse sneakers. He had messy hair and a t-shirt on. He had a black book bag slung over his shoulders and headphones around his neck. The Tim he knew had never represented anything other than justice. And that was only behind a mask.

"Tim, the media's out of control," Luscious said, leading Tim past the shocked and slightly angry faces in the room, "And the public's right behind them. We need you to say a few words to get them under control, you understand I'm sure."

"Me?" Tim asked, shaking his head, "Luscious, you could do it 20 times better than I could."

"I don't have the authority to represent the company, Tim. You're the only one here who can."

Tim lowered his voice, looking behind him slightly at the scowling faces, "But I've never given a speech before, Luscious."

Luscious nearly smiled at him before shaking his head slightly. "You'll do just fine."

And then doors in front of Tim were opened and the flashing of lights and screaming and cold air told Tim he didn't have a choice anymore.

Luscious held up his hands as he led Tim outside and to a podium.

"Alright, alright." Luscious said, quieting the yelling of the crowd, "Now, Mr. Wayne is out of town currently, so you will not be hearing from him."

A ruckus so loud went up that Tim had to resist covering his ears like a child.

"Settle down, everyone-" Luscious tried.

"We're tired of waiting!" someone from the crowd yelled.

"Are you gonna wait until that satellite kills someone before something is done?" someone else cut in.

Singular voices became indistinguishable as their voices rose once more. Luscious was trying with vigor to calm the crowd down, but even with a mic, the crowds volume overpowered him and he went ignored.

Tim was panicking, and his hands was shaking, but he tried to harness some of Bruce and decide what Dick would do in this situation. No doubt, Dick would never let anyone talk to Luscious like the crowd was. And though their arguments weren't personal, Luscious was fighting a losing battle.

Tim straightened his back and squared his shoulders, then he put a hand on Luscious's shoulder. Luscious was mildly surprised, but stepped down out of Tim's way immediately. Tim took a deep breath, before leaning down towards the mic.

"Hey!" he yelled, and clearly, he understimated the volume of the mic.

His voice echoed and carried to probably Bludhaven. The crowd died down immediately, though, and he supposed that that had been the point all along anyway.

"Get down from there kid!" someone yelled, but before the crowd could begin their ranting again, Tim held up his hands.

"I know I'm not my step-dad." he said, "I know he's the only one who can really set everything straight. And I know that most of you won't take my word for anything. But, I know Bruce, and I know the kind of person he is. If there was any way that the Wigify Satellite could pose a threat to anyone, Bruce would shut it down. He cares a lot more about Gotham than any of you could ever imagine. He would never let anything bad happen to it, and he would never allow weapons that pose a threat to it to be within Wayne Enterprise walls."

"So are you confirming that the Wigify is in the basement of Wayne Enterprises?" questioned a reporter.

"I'm not confirming or denying anything." Tim said with a shrug, "Mainly because I don't know. But also because it doesn't matter. Whether the Wigify is in space or underground, its purpose is to help improve our lives. And Bruce would never allow it to be used for anything other than its intended purpose."

Another ruckus went up as people threw out theories about what could happen and all the different ways the Wigify could be hacked and stolen and used for 'evil'.

Luscious held his hands up, and most of the noise went down. It seemed like everyone was on an energy decline, though. If Tim could just keep that up, he might be able to save Wayne Enterprise from a massive riot and/invasion… and his reputation, as well.

"I know you're all concerned," Tim said, when the crowd quieted down some. "But don't you think this has gone through Bruce's mind already? Don't you think he's already installed fail-safes that make sure nothing horrible can come out of this? Guys, this is Bruce we're talking about. I know for a fact that his cell phone is set to self destruct if it's taken 5 feet away from him. And that's only for his backup cell phone."

There was a low, unexpected laugh that went through the crowd and Tim looked to Luscious. Luscious only smiled and winked at him though, so Tim assumed that what he'd said had actually been funny. The funny thing, though, was that he hadn't meant to be funny.

"So let's say," came another reporter's voice, "someone got around all that security, then what?"

"Like most of Bruce's equipment and machines," Tim explained, "they come with a minimum of three fail-safe plans. The more dangerous the machine, the more failsafes are installed. One of which, most definitely, is self destruction. Only he knows the codes to initiate them, but in the event that something happens to him, he has several machine operated procedures that would commence to secure all of his machines and inventions."

A low murmur went up now, as everyone seemed to discuss amongst themselves about this new information.

"I hope Timothy's answered most of your questions," Luscious said, stepping up to the podium and grabbing Tim's shoulder, "But at this time, we're shutting the conference down and taking no further statements or questions."

Tim had heard Luscious and many other people make that statement, but crowds usually objected openly to it. For some reason, though, this day they did not. Most of the crowd just turned to leave, while others stayed to take more pictures. But there was no open dispute like Tim was used to seeing.

Luscious led Tim back inside, where the stern and hard faced business people were now standing and clapping for him.

"You really got us out of some trouble-" someone said as Luscious led him by.

"Yeah, that crowd was ready to charge in here-" someone added.

"You're not a bad speaker-" a lady mentioned.

Tim said nothing though. He finally felt as if he could breathe again. Out of the spotlight and away from all the cameras, he felt 10 degrees cooler and a million times calmer.

Luscious led Tim to the hallway before giving him a light shove.

"Bruce will be mighty proud of you when he hears about this." Luscious said, " _I'm_ certainly proud of you. But for now, why don't you get on home. I've still got some things to close up here, but you deserve the rest of the day off."

Luscious winked at Tim, and Tim couldn't help but smile. An hour ago, he didn't think he could do it. Heck, tomorrow, he still probably wouldn't believe that he'd made a public address. But the moment Luscious went back into the conference room and closed the door, Tim's real reality set in. The truth of the matter was, he was still alone. Bruce was still missing.

But at least now, he had somewhere to go. At least now, he didn't have to spend another night in the empty Wayne manor.

Vivian had offered Tim a ride home, but Tim didn't want to risk her finding no one was there to greet him. Though he doubted Vivian would walk him up to the front door, or take suspicious note of the fact that Tim had to open the door himself, instead of Alfred, he wanted to take no chances.

So two bus rides and short taxi ride later, Tim was tossing his backpack on the kitchen floor and heading down to the batcave. He packed himself a suit, opted to go to Jump City as just Tim, and was ready to leave within a half hour. But before he left, he went through the protocols of locking down the house twice. The last thing he needed was someone breaking in. He went into the bat-computer and connected its system to his cell phone, so all the security the bat computer took note of would notify him while he was gone.

With a rev of his motorcycle engine, he sped through the tunnels leading out of the cave and after a few sharp turns, he was on Main st and on his way to Gotham's borders to see his brother.

* * *

So what'd ya think? Let me know in the comments, k?

See ya all next week!

-TheForgottenName


	3. Suspicious Behavior

Hey guys, I realize that I'm a complete week late with this, which I apologize profusely for. Situations out of my control had me extremely busy with very limited time on the computer and internet. But I promise, this won't happen again and next week I'll be more punctual than Doctor Who. Which, seriously isn't that punctual. But I'll be _more_ so, so that should even things out some, so cool.

Anyway, enjoy this chapter, it's a bit on the longer side for making you guys wait.

* * *

Tim didn't sleep. Barely ever, actually. So driving all night was not really a big deal to him. But rain? Rain was entirely different. He hated driving in the rain. He'd seen his fair share of cars and motorcycles alike skidding and spinning out of control on the wet roads. Death was not a rare sight in those accidents. And while Batman had probably taken note of Tim's subtle denial to drive on his own when it rained, he knew it was a fear Batman wanted him to get over. All fears were.

So he pushed on through the rain, though he wanted to stop and wait for it to let up. There was some imaginary pride he felt in facing his fears. Like somehow, Bruce was proud of him for doing it, even though he wasn't there to witness it.

That feeling held him until he reached Jump City's border. It was nearly midnight, and he was starving, but he figured he'd get something to eat with his brother when he arrived at the tower. And then it occurred to him that in Jump, Dick didn't even exist. Dick was supposed to be off at college, not fighting crime in the city. He mentally headbutted himself, and at the first chance he got, he put away his civilian attire and became Batman's crime fighting sidekick.

There was always a difference in him, he noticed, when he rode in garb and out of it. He rarely rode a motorcycle as Tim, because simply put, there was no need. He had Alfred to drive him places. And Bruce didn't want anyone to connect his driving skills and habits to that of Robin's. But he did ride sometimes, and everything felt different when he was Tim riding, than when he was Robin riding.

As Robin, he leaned down into his cycle. He felt its engine on his thighs, felt its vibrations in his hands. His cape flapped behind him, and he sometimes found his eyes drawn to how it blew in the wind (a safety hazard, he knew, but he only looked when there was barely anyone on the road). But as Tim, it was like the lack of armor made him into a different person. As Tim, he rode with his back straight. His eyes trained straight ahead, as if his ability to multitask while driving made him a suspect of someone in a mask.

Bruce's paranoia was rubbing off on him.

He noted, the closer he got to the tower, that he got mixed looks from the civilians. Some of them seemed to notice that he wasn't the Robin they were accustomed to. While others didn't even give him a glance. Not much unlike Gotham, only, the people here seemed infinitely friendlier.

He knew the shortcut into the titan's garage that allowed him to get to the island without going over the water, and in only a few minutes, he was underground entering the codes to let him into the basement. Dick had told Tim not to use those codes often. His entry would be logged, and Cyborg took note of everything that went on inside the tower. Usually, when Tim visited Dick, he just landed on Dick's bedroom window and waited. And Dick often did the same the few times he'd visited him in Gotham.

So technically, he didn't 'formally' know the titans. But he knew much more about them than they probably did each other, so in his universe, they were all very good acquaintances.

But this was an emergency, so Tim didn't mind that his entrance was logged. If he did mind though, he had no doubt that he could hack the system and delete it from the log history. But as it were, he didn't care.

He left his bike besides his brothers, past memories forcing him to turn around to see his and his brothers bike side by side again. And then he got on the elevator. He, of course, knew the towers floor plan by heart, and to his knowledge, he'd been on his way to the common room, when the elevator stopped.

He pushed his floor level again, and the elevator only jostled, but didn't move.

"You've got to be kidding me." he muttered, flicking his wrist and activating his glove assistant.

The glove had been a gift from Dick, and Tim would admit that it was easily the best gift Robin had ever gotten. He pulled up a holographic chart of the towers electric system in real time.

"Someone's cut the power." he sighed, flicking his wrist again, and sending the hologram away.

No doubt Cyborg had done that once he noticed someone unauthorized was in the tower. He guessed he should have called ahead.

He waited another few minutes out of courtesy, but when no one showed up to 'apprehend' him, he gave up on trying to be patient. The ceiling vent was sealed, electrified, and pass-coded, in case someone tried to escape, when the elevator was on shutdown. But in 12 seconds flat, Tim was climbing onto the top of the elevator and scaling the shaft the rest of the way up.

He was not surprised to find the 'welcome committee' awaiting him in the common room.

A green and growling tiger, the blue light of a sonic cannon, the green light of a starbolt, and the black energy of a half demon awaited him.

If Dick was near, he would have told them to stand down. In fact, Dick would have known Tim was coming the moment he entered the code into the underground tunnel.

"Where's Robin?" was the first thing he said.

Raven was the first to lower her hands.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Robin." Tim told her, though he had suspected the outfit would give him away, "Gotham Robin, that is. Where's _your_ Robin."

"Dude, your Batman's Robin!" came the voice of Beast Boy, and Tim realized the tiger had been replaced by a boy.

"Hey man," Cyborg said, lowing his cannon and switching it back to his hand, "You should of knocked."

"Ohhhhh, tiny Robin!" Starfire cried, picking him up into a bone crushing hug, "We welcome you to our tower!"

"Thanks." Tim ground out before being dropped.

"You must hail from Larry's dimension," Starfire observed, "Do you have a magic finger?"

"He's not from another dimension star," Beast Boy explained, "he's from another town."

"All the more glorious!" Starfire cried, "I must prepare for you the Tamaranian meal for newcomers."

"No, no, no, Star," Cyborg said, smiling at her, "I'm sure Gotham Robin's not really that hungry."

Beast Boy and Cyborg sent Tim complicated looks and it almost made him smile. Did they not know who he worked with? Even the most subtle hint wouldn't have gone unnoticed.

"Yeah, I just ate." Tim played along, "I couldn't eat a bite."

"Perhaps later, then." Starfire said, undeterred.

"Well," Cyborg said, "what brings you to Jump, Gotham Robin?"

"I need to talk with the other Robin." Tim said, "It's extremely urgent."

The titans all shared a look, and Starfire stormed off suddenly, leaving through the common room doors.

"Dude," Beast Boy said, "we don't know how to tell you this but..."

"Robin's gone over to the bad side." Cyborg finished.

A beat passed where Tim had to reevaluate what was said twice. Once he confirmed what he'd heard, he couldn't help it, he laughed. It was the first laugh he'd had in a long while, and once he started, he couldn't stop.

"We don't see this as funny." Raven said, and it was then that Tim realized they were serious.

"What are you guys talking about?" Tim asked, "There's no way my b- best friend is on the bad side."

Tim had nearly referred to Dick as his brother. He scolded himself. He couldn't make those kinds of mistakes in front of his brothers friends (or anyone, really). Dick would hate him if he revealed their secret identities.

"He fought us," Raven said, "And he beat us. It's not easy for us to accept, but he shot Starfire. He's turned, and it's nothing we can do about it."

Tim folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Look," he said, "I know Robin, alright? And he hasn't turned. But I don't really have time for this, so where is he so I can settle this and get back to my real mission?"

"He shot Starfire, dude!" Beast Boy exclaimed, "The Robin we know would never do that. So Gotham Robin, I think it's only fair to let you in on the fact that the real Robin... has been taken over by a robot."

Raven slapped the back of Beast Boy's head and Tim shook his head, walking further into the common room. He activated their computer, putting in a few of his own codes to jump straight into the mainframe system.

"Um, what are you doing?" Beast Boy asked, approaching.

"I'm finding Robin," Tim said, his fingers flying across the keyboard, "And I'm leaving in about 5 minutes. Its up to you whether you want to come along, but I'm not waiting up."

"What makes you think we're gonna let a little midget take over?" Cyborg asked.

"I never asked to take over." Tim said, scanning the map that appeared, "And I'm not taking over. I came here to see Robin because I need him. You say he's not here so I'm going to get him. Whether you come along is up to you, because I'll gladly do it on my own."

Tim knew they were all sharing looks, wondering if he was to be trusted, or was fit enough to lead, or if he was young and inexperienced enough to lead them to a trap. But none of the above was true. Tim had infiltrated a million hideouts, dens, warehouses, and dark holes in the ground.

"You don't know who you're dealing with." Raven said, "He's an old rival of Robin's."

"Then you must mean Slade," Tim said, nodding, "Yeah, I know the guy. He's tangled with Batman before. Lost every time, of course."

"Slade's lost before?" Beast Boy asked.

"Alright." Tim said, ignoring him, and hooking a USB from the computer to his phone, "30 seconds and I'm gone. You guys coming or not?"

"I'll get Starfire," Raven said, disappearing through a black hole.

"Starfire's taken this the hardest." Cyborg said once Raven was gone, "She and Robin were pretty close."

"Then how can you all assume so easily that he's bad?" Tim asked, "I thought you were all friends."

"Dude," Beast Boy cut in, "He tried to kill us!"

"If Robin had tried to kill you, then you'd be dead." Tim said, "He was trained by Batman. Trust me, he knows how to kill, and how not to kill. He spared your lives."

"Some weird stuff did happen when we fought with him," Beast Boy said.

But before Cyborg could respond, Raven and Starfire was back. Starfire seemed calmer, but her eyes were red.

Tim chose not to take notice.

Tim cringed as Starfire made a sharp turn. She said she'd flown Dick holding onto to nothing but his wrists all the time. But flying through the air hanging by his arms was painful. Nevertheless, he grit his teeth and bared it. Raven had Cyborg on a black disk, but Tim didn't trust anyone flying him through the air without knowing their full attention was on him. If he were dropped, he knew there were at least 30 ways for him to come out of it unscratched, but he wasn't one to take chances.

And that's all going without mentioning that Starfire's powers ran on her emotion.

He was seriously rethinking his decision not to ride with Raven.

"Here we are." Tim said, as they landed on the building, "Robins right inside."

"I'll take us in." Raven said, and before Tim could think about it, he was falling.

He rightened himself enough so that he didn't fall on his back, instead, rolling to his feet. But he was so disoriented that he had to sit down immediately. They'd fallen through the ceiling and into a dark room full of giant gears and cogs that turned slowly and blew out steam.

"So this is Slade's hideout..." Cyborg said, clearly more used to Raven's powers than Tim.

In fact, everyone was up and about before he was. But all he wanted to do was vomit. That is, until a cool hand touched his neck.

"You'll get used to it." came Raven's voice as she walked away.

Tim was just glad the nausea was gone.

They snuck around for a few minutes, Tim cringing at every breath and clang they made. The titans weren't known for their stealth, as was noted in Batman's files. They were a full frontal attack kind of team. Tim was the opposite, and before long, he'd reached his limits. Easily, he slipped away from the group and explored on his own.

Without the titans, yes, he had little to no backup. But he moved faster and quieter and more efficiently. Before long, a grunt caught his attention, and not even 5 feet in front of him, Dick landed hard onto his back.

Tim was frozen for a second, but Dick spotted him almost immediately. Slade dropped down from one of the gears, and Dick immediately drove the fight away from Tim, which Tim found odd. If it were him, he'd be relieved to find he had backup. The last thing Tim would do was drive the fight away. Something Tim couldn't figure was if he felt hurt about that or not. Dick was only trying to protect him, surely, but then again, fighting was what Tim did. He could help.

Those were his thoughts as he got up from where he'd been crouching.

"Well, well, well." came Slade's slow, annoying voice when he saw Tim, "How long have you been there?"

Dick used that small distraction and was able to get in a kick directly into Slade's stomach, sending the man barreling backwards and into a wall.

"What are you doing here?" Dick snapped at him, dodging back when Slade came back and threw a punch at him.

"I need your help." Tim argued, "And you weren't at the tower so-"

"-So you decided to come get me?"

Dick sounded angry, and Tim was very used to seeing that anger from his brother. Just not directed towards him.

Slade swept Dick's legs, and while Tim knew Dick would roll out of the way, he used the move to jump into the fight himself. He pulled his bo-staff from his belt and extended it, hitting Slade in the stomach and then quickly to the head before he could bring his foot down on Dick.

That didn't seem to have affected the man much, but it gave Dick enough time to roll up and onto his feet.

"Listen, squirt." Slade growled at him, "Go home before you get yourself killed."

Tim mocked hurt, "Me? But I haven't even been hit yet, you're the one with the crack in his mask?"

Slade reached up quickly, and felt along the crack Tim had made with his staff.

"Why you little-"

Dick cut Slade's sentence off with a roundhouse kick to Slade's back. Tim just dove out of the way as Slade regained his composure.

"What's the matter?" Tim asked, when Slade looked between the two, "Two Robin's too much for you?"

When Slade charged again, Dick pushed Tim back, excluding him from the fight. Tim nearly pouted. He fought side by side with Dick all the time. In fact, it was one of his favorite past times. But for some reason, Dick had other plans, and it didn't involve Tim fighting.

So he did the next best thing. He ran off to destroy whatever leverage Slade had over Robin. The titans could be very black and white sometimes. They didn't consider the gray very often. Robin wouldn't, _couldn't_ , be bad. The only way to get him to go against his will was to dangle something above him. In order for Dick to stay good, sometimes he had to be bad. It was Tim's mission, now, to to cut that line and free Dick.

He found the main room of the warehouse, it it took all but 5 seconds for him to figure out that Slade was holding the actual titans as Dick's leverage. Typical Dick, of course he'd turn bad for his friends.

He set to work trying to not only figure out the titans issue, but to try and sever the switch that obviously controlled it. He hacked passed numerous firewalls, but everything led back to that switch. The one Slade either hid or had on him, because no villain traveled without their controlling switch.

So Tim moved on to plan b. He followed the lines and cables to a machine that he assumed the controller controlled. The top of the machine seemed to be highly unstable. One touch could infect Tim with whatever the titans had. But, one would assume that if this machine was destroyed...

A hand grabbed Tim by his hair, and he was dragged backwards onto the floor.

"I wouldn't." came a deep voice.

Tim gripped Slade's hand, which still had his hair. Still, he managed a smile, though.

"Right back atcha." he said, and a green starbolt hit Slade directly in his face.

The crack in Slade's mask only grew as Slade released Tim's hair. A cracked mask, Tim couldn't help but think, so metaphoric. But he crawled back to the machine, and opened the panel on the side, surveying the wires. Now that the other titans had joined the fight, Tim worked as fast as he could. Slade had a kill switch, and slowly but surely, he was being backed into a corner. It was only a matter of time before...

Starfire let out an agonizing scream. Followed by Beast Boy, and then Raven, and then Cyborg. Tim didn't even turn around, he just worked faster.

"Hey Slade!" came Dick's voice, and Tim looked up to find his brother was removing his gloves.

Don't do it, Dick. Don't do it, Dick. Don't, don't, don't do it.

"We both know how much you hate to lose." Dick said, before pressing both hands on the top of the machine.

"Don't!" Tim screamed, before his brothers agonizing cries drowned out his own.

Tim wasn't sure, but he thought he might have heard Slade yell something too. Either way, he went back to cutting and rewiring wires. But without anyone to watch his back, Slade was on him quickly. Slade pulled him away from the machine by his cape.

"You went through all the trouble of getting Robin to your side, and now you're just going to let him die?" Tim asked, disconnecting his cape.

Tim whipped around and jumped to his feet, his fingers already itching to grab a batarang, but Slade now stood between him and the machine, Tim's cape tight in his hand.

"Apprentices die all the time," Slade said.

"But none of them are ever the same," Tim went on, stalling, watching as Slade made miniscule movements to the left, and Tim followed the circle to the right towards a large gear, "You'll never get another apprentice like him."

"True," Slade said, "But maybe I'll trade him for a like minded one."

Tim picked up on the implication, but he wasn't interested. He calculated Slade was far enough to the left, and him to the right, and as fast as he could, he pulled a batarang from his belt and threw it.

Slade caught it easily.

"Boy," he laughed, "Did you really think you could throw this faster than me?"

"Nope." Tim said diving behind the gear he'd gone towards.

Even Slade hadn't expected him to throw a trick batarang, and in only a second, it exploded. Tim didn't have his cape anymore, so he covered his head with his hands and hoped for the best for the others. The initial batarang blast was large, but not huge. But the second and third explosion told Tim that he'd succeeded in blowing the systems up.

He peaked around the gear to find Raven and Cyborg were rousing. Raven raised her hands, and before she could forget Tim was with them, he rushed towards them just as a black hole opened up beneath her.

They all fell through, ending up in the grass of some park. Raven had used the rest of her energy to get them all out of the warehouse, and now she'd passed out again. The transport must have knocked Cyborg out again, too, because he was out as well. As long as Tim could get passed the nausea, he was fine.

He sat in the grass for a while with his head between his knees, while slowly, the titans came too. Tim decided he'd let them all rekindle and celebrate without his interference, so he took a walk.

Gotham had parks, but none as clean as this one. No matter how much good the rich put into Gotham, someone was always there to dirty her back up.

It was evening, and the sun was beginning to dip. Tim couldn't believed he'd spent nearly a whole day fighting in Jump. Part of him of course was glad to have lent a hand to his brother, though it seemed as if his brother hadn't really wanted his help. And the other half of him felt as if he wasted a full day of time. Who knew the tortures Bruce was going through at that very moment?

"Hey!" came Dick's voice, and Tim turned to see his brother running to catch up with him.

It was weird being out in the open as a hero. In Gotham, this only spelled trouble since someone always wanted him dead. It was always better to hide in the shadows.

"Hey," Tim said, when Dick approached him, "Guess you're feeling better now, huh?"

Dick gave him a tight side hug, "No thanks to you."

Cutting to the chase, Tim was about to tell Dick the very important reason he came to Jump.

"Hey, y'all, c'mon!" came Cyborg's voice above them, "We're throwing ourselves a party!"

A green pterodactyl tightened its talons around Cyborg's shoulders and flew off towards the tower. Starfire swooped in, picking up Dick, and Raven made a black disk for Tim to stand on. It was easier than he thought staying upright, but still terrifying to be floating on nothing but a small black disk.

"I'm making tofu tacos!" Beast Boy cried as they entered the common room, "Who wants some?"

"Man, don't nobody want that nasty tofu." Cyborg argued, "But they do want some of Cyborgs famous Chili!"

"That chili's not famous, dude," Beast Boy said, shaking his head, "Just because you like it-"

"Well, don't nobody even likes your tofu, BB-" Cyborg argued back.

"-and it's healthier and delicious-"

"-full of hamburger and tomato sauce and it's spicy-"

"-killing all those poor animals-"

"Enough!" Raven cried, and the two of them died down, "We'll have both. Now, I'm not usually the one to point these things out, but we kicked Slade's butt today. Do you guys really want to fight?"

"I agree with friend Raven," Starfire said, "We have prevailed as a team. Let us rejoice!"

"And don't worry Gotham Robin," Beast Boy said, "We haven't forgotten our guest of honor!"

"I will prepare the victory food!" Starfire said, flying into the kitchen.

The titans good mood was infectious, but Tim couldn't get into it. Dick must have noticed, because when the titans were occupied, he pulled Tim up to the roof to talk to him.

"You really saved our skin back there," Dick said, "I blacked out not long after I got infected, but I saw a little bit. You really handled yourself."

Tim tried to keep his mind focused on the task at hand, but there was one question he had to ask.

"Dick, you and I fight side by side all the time." he said, "And, I'm a pretty good fighter. But you totally brushed me off today."

Dick smiled at him, "You're my little bro, that's my job."

"But my job is to fight. And besides, we've taken on guys tougher than Slade before."

"And that's why I knew I could handle him on my own. Come on, Timmy, you're the smart one here. I could hold off Slade, but i'd never get that machine shut down as fast as you did. That's where I needed you, Tim. Saving my friends was more important than having my back. I knew if I pushed you away enough, you'd get the message."

Yeah, the battle field and in front of the enemy wasn't the best place to discuss a plan. And Dick would send him to save his friends before he asked for help.

"These guys are pretty soft, though, huh?" Dick asked, motioning down to the common room. "In comparison to the people we usually work with, anyway. They didn't grow up in Gotham like you and I did."

Tim shrugged, "Their okay."

"Their better than okay," Dick assured him, "But, their different. It's a nice change from the people in Gotham."

Dick walked to the edge of the roof, balancing only on the balls of his feet.

"But I know you, Timmy." he said, "You've got a look to you. What's the matter?"

That one question opened the floodgates.

"It's Batman." Tim confessed, "A few days ago we were on a mission, and then a warehouse blew up, and I looked for him, but I couldn't find him. And Alfred's away in England, and then that stupid satellite caused a mob, and I don't know what to do because I don't have any leads, and you're the only person I knew to go to, because there is no one else, and I-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Tim." Dick said, his hands waving him down. "Slow down. Whats all this about Bruce?"

"He's missing." Tim said, running his hands through his hair frantically, "He's been gone for a few days now."

"Bruce and Batman disappear all the time without any warning. Maybe this is one of those times."

"He's never gone on complete radio silence before, though. Not without giving me at least a hint that he's alright."

Dick bit his lip before shaking his head, "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."

Tim watched as Dick casually walked along the roof edge on his tip-toes. As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"How can you be so calm?" Tim asked, "Either you don't trust me enough to take this seriously, or you just don't care."

"Of course I care-"

"Then you don't trust me."

"Timmy, calm down." Dick said, walking up to his little brother. "Remember who we're talking about, here. Now you know I trust you, and you know I care about Bruce. All I'm saying is... maybe, we shouldn't just assume the worst, you know?"

"I know," Tim said, taking a deep breath, "But the longer I wait, the more worried I get."

"Understandable." Dick said, walking back to the tower roof's edge.

Tim was beginning to notice some things about Dick, now. Like, for one thing, he was avoiding eye contact. Well, 'mask contact', since they both wore masks. And that was strange, because Dick always looked at him when they spoke. Dick was shuffling, too. Little twitches in his hands, his continuous walking. And then their was his incredible calmness.

"Something's going on." Tim said, his eyes narrowing at his brother.

"Of course there is," Dick said, but Tim noticed how his eyes had widened, "Else Bruce wouldn't be missing."

"Then come back to Gotham with me," Tim said, "Come back and help me find Bruce. Come back, at least, until Alfred gets home. If he's gone that long."

Dick looked out over Jump City's horizon, and bit his lip. He mumbled something, and Tim stepped closer to him.

"What?" Tim asked, leaning towards him.

"I said I can't." Dick said, his eyes never leaving the horizon, "Slade's gone for now, but he'll be back soon. I can't leave the team, or the city."

Tim's eyes were wide with disbelief for a moment. Here he was, telling his brother he was home alone. Telling his brother he was scared, and that he was worried about Bruce. And Dick said... he couldn't come back with him? That was not at all like Dick. Not. At. All.

Tim shook his head, still not believing what he'd heard, but before he spoke, Dick beat him to it.

"Timmy, look." Dick said, "guys like you and I, we all go through some kind of test. Maybe this is yours. Maybe this is your chance to prove yourself-"

"Test?!" Tim asked, his voice shrill, "Dick what are you talking about? Batman's life could be in danger. I'm out of leads, I have no clues. Dick I don't know what I'm doing. I need help."

"Well, you can't get it from me." Dick snapped, and Tim's eyebrows furrowed.

Something was wrong with Dick, but he couldn't place it. Dick's mood swings, nonchalance, and fidgeting was definitely a sign that something was wrong. But Tim didn't know if it was because of a topic related to him or not. All he knew was that Dick was different.

"So that's it?" Tim asked, "That's all? You're done? You're not going to help me at all? Your gonna send me back to the manor alone?"

"Tim, it could be dangerous here," Dick pleaded, "With Slade out there-"

"I just kicked Slade's butt, Dick. We won. He's gone. And even if he weren't, dealing with dangerous people is my job. Why don't you trust me, anymore?"

"Tim-"

"Stop!" Tim snapped, "Just stop. You don't want to help? Fine. You don't appreciate my help? Fine. It's fine. It's _all_ fine. I'll figure it all out on my own."

"Timmy-"

"No, don't call me that. We are not friends right now, okay?"

Dick said nothing, and Tim knew he would understand why that affectionate nickname wasn't wanted at the moment.

Tim stormed off the roof and down the stairs, knowing Dick was watching him go. He avoided the common room, where light arguing could be heard through the door, and headed straight to the basement.

What had he been thinking? Why would Dick abandon his team and city to come back with Tim? Leave this sunny place to go to dark old Gotham? Dick left Gotham for a reason, and that was because him and Bruce just couldn't get along. And now, Tim was asking Dick to come back to find him? In all honestly, Tim had expected Dick to come back anyway. If not for Bruce, then at least for Tim.

And Tim wouldn't lie, it would have been great to have Dick on the case with him. Naturally, because Dick was eldest, he would be in charge. The rules of sibling-ness, Tim supposed. But he didn't mind. It's was always nice taking orders from Dick. Dick never demanded, like Batman, whose words never allowed you even the smidgen of an idea, to question them. Dick's commands were more like suggestions. Like he didn't care how you did it, because he was confident that you could do it many ways, he just wanted it done.

Tim didn't want to lead. He didn't like that pressure. He didn't like knowing that at some point, if it all fell apart, he'd be to blame. He hardly trusted himself, let alone anyone else. On his own, he was afraid. Even though he was only leading himself, he felt those high stakes anyway. Letting Dick handle this would have been a blessing.

The elevator dinged when he reached the basement level. He went straight to his bike, but froze before getting on. Coming to jump city had been his first and only plan. He had assumed Dick would jump on his bike and they'd ride home together. It had never crossed his mind that Dick might not come.

Now, he had no plan. Nowhere to go, either, but home. It was Thursday, so he did have school in the morning, but after that was the weekend. A whole weekend without any supervision. Which was fine. Independence was fine. But... that was a lot of independence. More independence than he was used to, and he wasn't sure if he was excited about it or not.

And then, of course, their was the fact that if Batman was dead, his independence would be indefinite. Maybe a judge would let him live with just Alfred until he was a little older and was legally able to care for himself.

Tim shook his head. Batman wasn't dead. And those were stupid thoughts.

He hoped on his bike, putting his helmet on, before he froze, yet again. Dick's bike sat besides his own out in the open, almost gleaming with its potential secrets. Dick usually took old bikes and doctored them up to his liking. He was good with mechanics, but also very touchy about who saw and touched them. Knowing Dick had some good, probably unheard of gear on his bike, Tim used the empty basement to his advantage and took a good, close, inspection of Dick's bike.

If he was going to find Batman on his own, he could use some tricks of his own. And since Dick wasn't helping, lending some gear was the least he could do. Tim grabbed some of the high tech stuff he found, disconnected them, and put them in the trunk of his own motorcycle. Infrared radar? Yeah, he'll borrow that. Sonic cloaking? He'll take two of those. Automatic tire balance? Did he have that already? Who knew, but he was taking Dick's. And since Dick checked his bike every other 10 minutes, Tim didn't worry about his brother putting himself in danger, thinking he could use a weapon he no longer had.

His trunk nearly full of gear and mechanics, Tim sped off down the tunnels and out onto the main streets. The first thing he did, was stop at McDonald's, because he was pushing a full day and night without food.

He got barely any weird looks as he ate in a tree above the parking lot (something Batman would never have allowed). He wondered what kind of weird stuff Dick and his team did on a regular basis to have the civilians so casual about heroes and their behaviors.

When he finished eating, Tim was back on the road heading back to Gotham. His plan was to go back to the scene of the crime. There had to be something there he missed.

* * *

Okie doke, so that's that. Again, I'm sorry I skipped last week, I know thats seriously uncool. But moving on, review and follow if you're liking this story so far, OK?

TheForgottenName


	4. Wayne Break-In

Seriously, I nearly forgot to post this week. But, my FIRST review reminded me, so, here I am with the next chappy.

Enjoy!

* * *

It was some time in the 3 am's, but Tim was hardly affected by his lack of sleep. He hid his bike behind a dumpster and scaled a roof. He could see the empty space between warehouses 13 and 15 from where he stood and began a quiet rooftop hop across the pier. The piers was a busy place for super criminals and low lives alike, so Tim was sure to keep his head down. He wasn't in the mood, nor prepared, to take on anyone more advanced, than say, killer croc. And maybe not even him if Tim wasn't as focused as he felt.

Ever since Batman's disappearance, he was sure to keep a low profile. The last thing he needed was some high class criminal setting their sights on him.

Tim paused in his rooftop jumping and whipped around behind him. He'd heard a small shuffle.

He was pretty in-tune with his senses, and the smallest details always caught his attention. He could nearly feel eyes on him, now that he was paying attention, and he yelled at himself mentally for allowing himself to get too distracted by his thoughts.

Tim ran, jumping to another roof, and waited, listening. Sure enough, he heard the small shuffling of someone stalking him. But now, that person knew he was aware and had taken extra precaution in masking its steps.

"Frightened?" asked a voice, and Tim turned around to find a small boy was in front of him.

Tim raised an eyebrow, he was nearly 100% sure he'd tracked the sounds he'd heard from somewhere behind him, and there was no way this boy could have snuck passed him. Assuming this boy wasn't alone was the only conclusion Tim could draw, and he kept the boy parallel to his side, in case he needed to defend himself against multiple people.

"What is there to be afraid of?" Tim asked, eying the young boy.

The boy was dressed in a black ninja suit, one Tim had often seen on Ra's Al Ghul's assassins. But Ra's didn't usually play with children, though it wasn't something Tim would necessarily be surprised about. Ra's was committed to a 'cause', and he was willing to do whatever it took to make that 'cause' come to fruition.

"Being alone, of course." the boy said, "You seem easily frightened."

Tim smiled, "Then I've deceived you."

The boy smiled back, "You wish."

"Who are you?" Tim asked, his smile fading at the boys cockiness.

"I'm your biggest nightmare." the young boy responded, dropping into a fighting stance.

Tim might have laughed, but if their was anything he'd learned from the phrase: 'I'm your biggest nightmare', it's that you should never underestimate your opponent. Even still, there was mirth in his eyes, behind his mask, as he dropped into a fighting stance, too.

The kid lunged at him, and Tim counted several sloppy mistakes before the boy even reached him. It made him hesitate to even fight the kid. Whatever training he'd gotten, probably wasn't complete, and that gave Tim a upper hand he was afraid to use. Nevertheless, he swept the boys legs and gave him a quick jab in his solar plexus.

"Look, kid." Tim said, "Just go home. Or back to wherever you're from."

The boy said nothing, instead, using the hunched over position Tim had knocked him into, to return with a double roundhouse at near lightning speed. The sloppiness in the boys form all but vanished, and Tim found himself dodging back and flipping out of the way of some serious assaults.

That phony, sloppy, intro had only been used to lull Tim into a false sense of reading on the kid. And for a good second, it had actually worked. It was clear the kid was good. Pretty good, actually. But Tim was better, and in under 10 minutes, the younger boy was so frustrated with being bested that he was making rudimentary mistakes. Leaving himself wide open numerous times.

The kid ran at him, a basic right hand hook prepared for Tim's face, when Tim blocked him and grabbed his hair. The kid was surprised by the street style attack, and Tim was able to easily throw him onto the ground.

"What's your name, kid?" Tim asked, but the boy spit towards him.

"Don't worry about me." the kid tiffed, picking himself up, "We will meet again."

The boy ran off then, hopping several rooftops in quick succession. Tim didn't even waste his breath following him. Instead, he opened his holographic assistant in his glove, and scanned the hair DNA sample he'd collected from the boy. The analysis would be complete before Tim got home. He still found it weird that the kid had been alone. Especially since Tim had been sure he'd heard another set of footsteps. But for now, he shook the weird encounter from his mind and continued on his way to warehouse 14.

The space between warehouse 13 and 15 was practically empty. The support beams and a few areas where the roof had not completely collapsed was all that was left of the space. Burned rubble and smoky ashes covered the now frozen ground, hiding all the unimportant clues Tim had left behind the first time.

Still, he looked around as if it were the first time he'd don't so. When he'd first explored the area, it had still been hot with the explosion. He'd had to shield his face, and watch for other flammable or highly explosives in the area. Fire had still been raging as he'd searched restlessly for his mentor.

Tim shook his head from the flashback. In an instant, he was out of the fiery, hot, embers of his memory, and back in the cold, desolate space of the present.

He activated his holographic glove and began scanning the area. He'd done all of this before, when he'd first searched, but he'd had little time then, before the GCPD arrived. Besides, it never hurt to double check. In the span of time that Tim had been gone, someone might have returned to the area, leaving at least a clue for Tim. Since the area was no use to anyone now, anyone who returned to the area would be a pretty reliable suspect.

A full 3 hours passed with Tim scanning every stick, sheet of metal, and burned piece of wood relentlessly. But it all paid off when his red scanner flashed blue with a DNA alert. For the first time since his fight with that kid, Tim's heart sped up.

The scan had picked up DNA on the side of a barely standing support beam. The wind had blown away most of the tracks in the ground Tim might have gotten, but Tim still walked slowly up to the beam, reenacting what the person might have been doing. With the faint, practically invisible shoe prints he was able to uncover in the ground, he walked along them until he came to the beam. Carefully, with a gloved hand, Tim put his hand on the beam where the person had done it.

The beam rocked tremendously, and Tim took note of a few things. The footprints in the snow was sloppy. The hand on the beam was lower to the ground, than to any adult at full height. There was a little hill of disturbed ash and dirt not too far from the beam.

From those clues, Tim established that whoever had been at the warehouse after the explosion, was most definitely a woman. And said woman was hurt. She'd stumbled into the warehouse (hence the sloppy footsteps), grabbed onto the beam, hopping to balance herself. But the beam was too weak to support her, and it nearly gave way, (hence the reason why the DNA was so close to the ground). The woman had fallen to the ground, (that's where the pile of disturbed ash and dirt came in), and crawled away.

Tim followed the woman's tracks outside, and went as far as the pier before the woman's tracks disappeared.

He bit his lip. The tracks had been on a direct path to the water, and the woman had seemed to be in pretty bad shape. The likelihood that she was dead was pretty high, and that would mean he'd reached a dead end. But then again, maybe not. Some dead men still told stories. Tim just had to decipher them.

With the woman's DNA already being uploaded to the bat-computer, Tim decided it was time he turned in for the night. It was nearing 4 am and he did have school later.

The bat-computer flashed red, and Tim growled. He paced the batcave, trying to come to a decision. He'd long ago discarded his mask, boots, cape, and belt. And it was already 5:30 in the morning. But he couldn't force himself to stop working. He'd jumped right on figuring out who the mystery woman from the pier was, but she apparently wasn't a resident in Gotham, and the bat-computer hadn't found any matches to her within a 50 mile radius.

Of course, the bat-computer could branch out to a wider radius, but extending that radius would take time. Sometimes up to two weeks just to get to Metropolis or Star City. There were a lot of people in the world and it took time to go through each and every one to find a single person.

Tim didn't have two weeks, though. He needed to know who this woman was now. He sat in the swivel chair and rolled up to the bat-computer. He tapped the keys lightly, not pressing any, and just thought. He could boost the signal of the bat-computer somehow. That way, it could scan more people faster. There were plenty of satellites in space he could hack. Dozens of dormant ones he could use without anyone knowing the wiser. Hundreds of strong, in use, but powerful ones that he could easily get into without getting caught. But even those would take at minimum a week.

Tim closed out the red flashing scan of the unknown woman, and came across the completed scan of the boy he'd run into. Some kid named Damian. Tim moved that file into his 'Unfinished Projects' folder, and then closed it, too. He ran the mouse over the screen blankly as he tried to think of something powerful enough to get him an instant, but omnipotent boost.

His mouse ran over a file labeled JLA. It was a file Tim knew by heart. One he'd spent years studying. It contained all intel on the members of the the Justice League, and even on members not in it. Income. Alter ego's. Family. Ability. Weakness. Strength. It was all there in the folder. Tim's eyes brightened, and he nearly slapped himself for not thinking about it sooner.

Duh, he knew of a floating satellite in space that could get him a DNA match in under an hour. The Watchtower. It was so obvious. With the strength and speed of the Watchtower systems, Tim could have a match in just a few hours.

Of course, breaking into the watchtower was no small thing. Superman was sketchy as it was when it came to the bat-family and the floating space shuttle. If anyone knew who could hack, control, or destroy that Watchtower, it was Superman. Batman had, in not so many words, assured the man of steel that he had no interest in playing around with the satellite, but still, Superman worried, so security was tight. The public was very fragile when it came to having a orbiting missile in the sky.

No one would willingly grant Tim permission to play around with the controls.

So hack it, it was.

Now, the bat-computer only needed a small boost from the Watchtower to get a good signal, but it was still too inferior to actually hack the Watchtower with. Tim needed a direct and secure line to hack the Watchtower, and while the bat-computer was both, it was not strong enough.

Something that pissed Tim off. Here was a super-computer, that couldn't even extend to a 50 mile radius in a day. That was one of the reasons the Wigify was so important. It could boost the bat-computer 10-fold, and this whole dilemma wouldn't have existed.

Tim smiled slightly, and there was another answer to a problem.

Using the Wigify, Tim could hack into the Watchtower. And using the signal from the Watchtower, Tim could boost the bat-computer's signal. That would be easy, right?

Break into Wayne Ent. Knock some guards out maybe. Hack some computers, blind some cameras. Easy-peasy, stuff. Sneak down to the basement, get into the Wigify system and hack the Watchtower. No big deal.

Tim was nearly about to suit up when he remembered it was probably getting light out, and that was a pretty bad time to go sneaking around. Tim Wayne didn't have a lot of access in the building, Robin could go to a lot more places. Besides, he'd almost forgot about school. If he didn't get dressed now, he was most definitely late.

Tim's leg bounced quickly as he sat through calculus. He glanced at the clock on the wall every 15 seconds. Only a minute had passed in four whole glances.

And then it happened. The bell rang.

Tim usually hung back some, just to let the rowdy kids run out the door and through the halls first. But this day, he was out the school doors before most kids got out of class. And he skipped the bus ride, opting to run instead, which actually shaved 10 minutes off the ride.

Tim paced the batcave, going over his plan numerous times before it was time to leave. This was not a particularly _challenging_ task he was up to. Breaking into Wayne Enterprises was something he'd accompanied Batman with for years. He could do it with his eyes closed. Hacking satellites was something he did for fun sometimes, so there was no real challenge there either.

No, the real challenge lay in how it was all done. He'd broken into the Wayne Tech building with Batman. He hacked satellites… well, by himself. But if he ever managed to get into trouble, Bruce would bail him out.

Now, he was alone, and his decisions could cost him a lot. If he were caught and detained, someone might find out his identity. And then Bruce's. And then Dick's. And then who knows who. With their identities out in the open, the prices on their heads would be unmatched.

Despite the simplicity of his mission, Tim was not taking it lightly. He wouldn't be the reason his family suffered.

With a nod of his head, Tim was ready to go. He triple checked the security of the house before mounting his cycle and speeding off.

Tim took backways, alleyways, dark streets, and abandoned roads. He sped down shady avenues, crooked boulevards, and under construction highways. He could not remember the last time he'd felt so paranoid. He was using backstreets Batman had used only once, having no idea he even remembered following Batman down them. And yet here he was, speeding down the streets, almost sweating at the mere idea that someone might catch on to where he was going and what he was doing.

He circled the downtown area twice before hiding his bike a full 5 miles away from the Wayne Tech building. He hopped buildings, opting not to use his grappling hook, when he got a feeling in his skin. His hair stood on end, and he got the same feeling he'd gotten when he'd fought that Damien kid on the warehouse rooftops.

He was being followed, but for the life of him, he could not pinpoint who or where his suspicions were pointing to.

Perhaps an assassin, he mused, knowing though, that even the league of assassins were not as carefully hidden as whoever was tailing him now. He suddenly didn't doubt that the kid from the rooftops hadn't been alone that night. But Tim suspected that the kid hadn't been aware of this stalker, which meant he'd been tailed by two different people. And since the kid wasn't here now, that meant that someone was definitely paying him close attention.

He didn't want to let it get to him, so he hoped a few more roofs before purposefully missing the next rooftop and dropping down. He fell for at least 3 stories before he bailed himself, catching the clothes line of a building and slowing himself down enough to slide into an open window.

The apartment he slid into wasn't empty. But he entered so quietly that no one bat an eye. He'd slid into the small dining room of a modestly furnished apartment room, sliding across and off of the table that sat beneath the window. To his right, 3 men on a sofa and cheered at a current soccer game, while two women talked and laughed in the kitchen to his left.

He walked across the room and into a back bedroom. The bedroom had a bathroom to the right which was closed, a dim light shining from underneath it. Tim leaped over the bed and out of the window above it, hoping he got out before the most likely 3rd woman came out of the bathroom.

Tim slid through several more houses before he felt the crawling in his skin subside. He'd doubled (even tripled) back, gone sideways, dropped, and climbed several buildings before he could firmly say he'd lost his stalker.

He hated stalkers (never mind that most nights, he was one). And made a mental note that he should be careful before going home.

He crouched behind the Y in Wayne Ent and activated his holo-glove. The area was clear and no one within 50 feet of him was unexpected.

Tim's holo-glove beeped quietly and Tim opened its screen. A code had been entered back at the manor, meaning someone had gone into the batcave.

Tim breathed a sigh of relief, though, when he read the code. It was the one Dick usually used whenever he came over. Tim was glad Dick had come to his senses and was going to help him find the dark knight. This was Bruce, after all. Dick was the first Robin, he and Bruce had more history that Tim and Jason had put together. He _had_ to come back.

It felt good knowing Dick would either be patrolling the streets or waiting for him back at the manor when he returned. He wondered what his older brother would say once Tim explained the complicated mission he'd taken on. But he shook his head, now, opting to stay focused.

With that Tim went to the vent under the A in Wayne and pried it open. The vent shaft dropped down exactly 50 feet, and was pretty wide for just a venting hole (something Batman and Luscious had actually done on purpose), and was full of sensors that Tim was currently hacking into. He put his glove hologram's light on dim, and eased himself into the shaft. The grips of his shoes caught the edges, and he held a full split as he replaced the vent cover above him.

He was flexible, flexible enough to hold his own weight in a split, but he was nowhere near as flexible as his brother. Tim could probably hold that position for an hour and a half, at best. Batman could hold one indefinitely, though Tim had never actually seen Batman hold a split for any reason. But Dick could probably fall asleep in a suspended split. Tim had actually caught him nodding one day during patrol as he held himself above a stakeout position he and Batman had gone on.

But the thought of Dick only distracted Tim, so he chose to stay focused. He quickly pulled his legs and arms in, dropping the 50 feet down to the horizontal landing the shaft ended in. He put his feet and arms back onto the vent's wall and slowed himself down until he could land on the bottom of the vent silently. He had noticed a bit of a squeak though on his left heel, and he made a mental note to get his shoe soles coated again so that next time, he could be completely silent.

The vent was very spacious for him (not much so for Batman, though), and Tim climbed through. He needed no map to guide him to the west side of the building, where Wayne Tech was located, and in under 10 minutes, he was peering down through the grates as security rotated shifts.

Tim opened his holo-glove, looking for a direct location of the Wigify satellite. Apparently, it really was in the basement. The media had gotten it's fact right, for the first time. But since Tim couldn't exactly take the elevator, he would have to change vents in order to get to a shaft that could lead him to the lower levels.

The ceiling in the Wayne Tech division had metal beams that criss crossed across the roof. They had built in cranes and hoists to help with the lifting of heavy materials. But right now, Tim dropped down to one easily and walked across them.

He could see security below, nodding to each other as they passed, shining flashlights on every dark corner. Bruce and Lucius had chosen each man and woman personally, doing background searches only Batman had access to. And while all those people below him in uniform most likely trusted and supported him, Tim was still trespassing. Robin was unwanted in the building. Action would be taken against him if he were spotted.

And that was a news report Tim didn't want Alfred, or anyone, seeing. Bruce would have a seizure.

Tim reached the other side of the room and found a shaft above him that he knew led down to the basement. With a leap, an electric screwdriver, and a hoist, he was back into the venting shafts and making his way forwards.

It was only a matter of time before he came across the 450 foot drop that led down to his goal. Deciding he better not risk the plunge, he attached his grappling gun above him and began repelling. Of course, he could just jump. He had every confidence that he could slow himself down enough to not only survive, but also land quietly. But why risk it? He was paranoid enough.

Batman would risk it. And so would Dick. But Tim shook his head. He hated how he always compared himself to others. But it was a force of habit. And one he apparently, could not easily break.

Pressing a button on his gun, he slowed his descent. Not because he could see the ground, but because he'd already calculated how long it would take to hit the bottom.

He pressed another button on his gun, disconnecting it from the ceiling, and dropped only a foot before hitting the vents floor. A short crawl later and he was opening up yet another vent and dropping down into a dark, empty office.

This was Bruce's office, whenever he had business to do in this part of the building, he worked here. The room was large, spacious, had highly expensive furniture, and was in a position that he could see the entire A and B working floor. But, it also had a button beneath the desk that could activate a computer screen that could be used to get into the bat computer's main screen. It had tinted windows, and bullet proof glass.

This was one of many times that Tim was glad of Bruce's paranoia and always prepared attitude.

Tim didn't activate the 'bat components' of the room yet, should someone enter while he was out on the work floor. But he did take his shoes off and leave them beneath the desk. The more he walked on them, the thinner his soundproof soles got, and he would rather go out in his socks than risk someone hearing his shoes squeak.

So in his socks, Tim snuck out the door and jumped down to the work floor. Security didn't enter this room in their rounds, they only peaked in through the door that was a flight of stairs above the floor. But, if they heard or saw something suspicious, certain guards had access to enter and investigate.

Hopefully, though, Tim could be in and out before anyone even came to look through the glass in the door.

The Wigify wasn't hard to find. It was huge, but so was a lot of the inventions in the room, scattered around in their respective places. What really gave the Wigify away was the fact that it was under a large tarp, no doubt trying to keep talk about it down in the press, media, and public. And though literally throwing a blanket over the problem hadn't worked so well, at least Tim didn't have to look for it.

He sat on the floor besides the large satellite Indian style and propped the tarp up using a half extended bo-staff. He opened the control panel of the machine and hooked his holo-glove up to it. Immediately, he set to work hacking into the system.

It was, as it should be, expertly guarded, but didn't present a bit of a challenge, if Tim was being honest. Breaking down firewalls, while being careful not to flip security and say, accidentally initiate it's self destruct sequence, had Tim's fingers flying across his holographic keyboard and his eyes scanning letters and numbers as they flew up his screen.

It took no longer than he'd of expected, but finally, his screen flashed green as he gained access to the networks.

His job on the workfloor done, Tim grabbed his bo-staff and made his way back to Bruce's office. He could use the computer there to connect back to the batcomputer and boost its strength and signal.

Tim quietly closed the door behind him and took a seat behind the desk. As he activated all the protocols that allowed him access to the bat computers mainframe, he slipped his left foot back into the shoe he'd left.

But Tim froze as he went to put his right shoe on. He peaked beneath the desk to find his shoe was gone. A quick glance around the room and Tim spotted it on the other side, on its side beneath a painting on the wall.

Knowing he hadn't even gone to that side of the room, Tim shutdown the computer and retrieved his shoe. He was paranoid, he knew that, but sometimes that paid off, and Tim wasted no time in jumping up through the vent he'd used to enter the room.

He knew from memory that behind that painting was an air duct (the bat family appreciated the finer things in life: i.e. multiple vents, shafts, and air ducts, that could be used for transportation) that lead up to the Biochem labs. Anyone who knew about that air duct knew the buildings layout pretty well, especially since most of the air ducts, including that one, wasn't on any public maps or blueprints.

That is to say, if there even was someone else sneaking around in the Wayne ceilings. But, Tim was almost 100% sure he'd left both his shoes beneath the desk and hadn't dragged or kicked any.

The moment Tim's grapple gun reached the top of the shaft, Tim opened his holo-glove and tripped an alarm in the biochem labs. He didn't really have the time to investigate, but at least he could get security to.

15 minutes later, Tim was crawling out of the vent beneath the A in Wayne and stretching his cramping muscles. He wasn't a particular fan of the venting shafts.

His holo-glove vibrated then, and Tim flicked it open. Apparently, several alarms were being tripped in the Tech and Biolab wings, as the intruder apparently threw caution to the wind and made to escape.

As quick as Tim wanted to get home, he also couldn't just leave an intruder in the building. If it were any other building, he might be tempted. But not this one. And yes, he was being… partially biased.

Tim followed the tripped alarms and knew exactly where the intruder was headed. It didn't take a strategic mind to see that this agility-clad intruder was into rooftop hopping.

Tim decided it was time he took his leave from the Wayne Ent. building roof. An intruder found in the building, and him standing around suspiciously was a bad combo.

Deciding he'd cut the intruder off a few roofs over from where the vent let out, Tim jumped a few rooftops. Did he feel this was all a waste of time? Eh… maybe. His prime objection was finding Bruce. But, what would Bruce say if he found out Tim had let an intruder just waltz right out of the building?

He'd probably be speechless. And Bruce was never speechless.

There was a grunt, and a blur, as the intruder leapt onto the building Tim was waiting on. He'd been thinking of some pretty good, corny, but equally as punny, come backs to the crook should they converse. But the moment Tim recognized the man, his mouth dropped and his heart stopped.

There was no mistaking that mop of black hair, that vintage Robin suit, that authoritative stance.

"J-J-Jason?!" Tim stuttered.

He'd never _technically_ seen the boy, but this had to be him. Tim had seen pictures and heard stories, and this boy fit the bill.

Jason was stunned for a moment, clearly having thought he was alone. He regained his composure quickly. But when he did, it didn't change to a happy one.

* * *

So that was that. Who knows what's going to happen next? !?

Stay tuned.


	5. X

So, it's been some time. Which sucks, and I apologize. To make up for that, I'm just gonna upload the rest of the story. I'm waaay overdue anyway, so, enjoy the rest!

* * *

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" Jason asked, and Tim sensed immediate danger and some seriously bad vibes coming his way.

Tim took a careful step back, his hands up in innocence.

"My name's Tim." he said.

Better to try and stay away from the touchy subjects. No matter how obvious they were.

"Where'd you come from, kid?" Jason asked, stepping closer, "Dangerous out here at night, 'specially with you running around in… that… suit."

Jason's voice had trailed off the closer he'd gotten to Tim. There were some things about the bat family that were just unmistakable. Tim's suit, Alfred's handiwork, Bruce's clear safety input, Dick's fashion suggestions- they were unmistakable.

No doubting who he was now. Besides, what kid with a brain would dress up as Robin and stand on a rooftop? It was like asking to be kidnapped. Begging, even. Unless, of course, you actually knew what you were doing.

"You-" Jason started, shaking his head, a disbelieving smile growing on his face, "You're… you're legit?"

Tim swallowed, "I'm the new Robin."

Just like ripping off a band aid. It wasn't until after he'd said it that he realized how insensitive it sounded.

"Jason-" Tim went to explain, but his sentence was cut off by a sharp, well placed, punch in the face.

Truth be told, he expected it. But he could take a hit, and he'd already counted his losses. Maybe that punch was out of Jason's system now.

Jason laughed, walking a small circle on the roof.

"I go through all this trouble to get Bruce's attention. I break in, cause a little mayhem, and Batman doesn't even show? He sends bat-boy out here, and won't even show?"

Now, at 18, Tim felt as if he was entitled to at least 3 social mistakes a day that he could cringe and ponder about later. Since Tim hadn't spoken to people much that day, it only made sense that his social blunder happen at the most crucial time of his night.

Which happened to be right now.

"Actually, I'm called Robin, too." he said, mentally slapping both his hands over his mouth.

Bruce would hit him upside his head if he were here for that one.

"Oh, you are, are you?" Jason said, mockingly sweet, taking a step closer.

Tim took one step back, "I'm sorry, Jason. I didn't mean that."

"No, bird boy. I think you did."

Immediate escape options: (1) try to talk his way out of things, risking saying something else to anger Jason, (2) just let whatever happens, happen, and fight his way out, (3) or, run like mad.

Tim decided to go with option 3. If he could lose Jason, he could spend the rest of the night pretending his predecessor hadn't returned from the dead with a vengeance against him. He could try, anyway.

Congrats Jason, he'd just earned his own personal folder on the batcomputer. Tim would be sure to label it Weird Phenomenons That Require Further Investigation

Batman would like that, though he'd complain the title wasn't efficient.

Unfortunately, running like mad wasn't very effective. Tim didn't know where Jason had come from, but he seemed to be in top physical peak, which Tim hadn't expected. Jason could hop rooftops with the best of them… and all while throwing out insults without so much as being out of breath.

"You don't actually think the Bat cares about you, do you?" Jason asked, doing a flip over Tim and cutting his escape route short. "You saw how fast he replaced me."

"No," Tim said, attempting to backtrack to escape option 1 "I saw how he _grieved_ over you. He nearly killed people, Jason. He was reckless. He got violent."

"Hate to break it to ya kid, but Batman doesn't shy away from violence."

"He was _overly_ violent. He needed a Robin beside him to keep him sane. Keep him balanced."

"But through all of that 'grieving' not once did the old man think to get back at the Joker. Never did he try and avenge me."

"You know that's not what we believe in-"

"We?" Jason laughed, "Oh no, there's no 'we' anymore. That was over the moment I saw I'd been replaced by some kid. That was before the Bats sent some amateur out to try and stop me."

"Jason, Batman didn't send me-"

"What makes you so special, hmm?" Jason asked, and that dangerous edge was back in his voice.

Tim stepped back until he'd reached the edge of the rooftop. He cast a look down below him, knowing it was at least 10 stories, but also knowing that that drop was a problem. The distance between the building Tim was on and the one beside him was larger than Tim could jump. He'd have to use his grappling hook to get across, but Jason didn't seem like he'd hesitate to cut his line at the moment, and while Tim could figure out how _not_ to die if he fell, he might not be able to do it without hurting himself in the process.

"Jason, I'm not special," Tim told him, hoping he might be able to talk the boy out of violence, "trust me. It took every ounce of conviction in me just to convince Batman to give me a _chance_. I know I can't live up to your legacy-"

"Like hell you can't."

This didn't quite sound like the boy Batman had trained. Tim was beyond interested in knowing what had happened between the time of Jason's death and now.

"But I've done at least _some_ good," Tim went on, "I've saved a life or two in my days as Robin."

Understatement, but best to play it modest.  
"Yeah?" Jason asked, "Well, I've saved _hundreds_. Thousands, even. Forget Dicki-boy. I'm the best Robin there ever was."

...no comment.

"And if I wanted," Jason said, approaching Tim and shoving his shoulders, "I could take the title back."

All that training on the balance beam with Dick was paying off tremendously right about now. Tim was already on the edge, and that shove had nearly sent him over. As much as Tim _didn't_ want to do it, he had to shove Jason back. He was too close to the edge with nowhere to go to let Jason get that close to him.

Jason only laughed though, when Tim shoved him.

"That's the best you can do?" he asked.

"I don't want to fight you, Jason." Tim said, moving away from the edge of the building. He was stupid for even being so close, already knowing the leap to the next building was too far.

"You couldn't if you wanted to," Jason said, approaching him slowly, "But just for kicks…"

Tim wasn't sure quite _when_ the conversation had turned, but Tim assumed that from the start, they'd been on this path to destruction.

Easily, he threw his arms up to block a punch headed towards his face. Deciding to play defense for a moment, he dodged back, ducking down and rolling on the ground to the side to avoid Jason's kicks and hits.

Being Batman's sidekick, if anything, Tim knew how to dodge an attack. It was quite often that Tim's only job for the night would be to jump into some fray and just tire out his attackers. Batman would swoop down sometime later to interrogate some already exhausted crook while Tim kept the rest of the crooks busy. The night would usually end with ⅓ the guys collapsing from exhaustion, ⅓ the guys giving up and running, and the rest of the guys knocked out. None of them would ever know that Batman had swooped down and gotten the information he'd needed.

There was a _thud_ somewhere as someone landed on the roof. For the split second that Tim was distracted, looking for whoever had joined him and Jason, Jason was on him, trapping his head in a full Nelson. Which was weird, because Batman didn't use full Nelson's to apprehend criminals, so why did Jason?

"Hey," said the voice of whoever had landed on the roof, "Why don't you kids play nice?"

A man in black stepped out of the shadows, wearing a black and white mask made to look like a skull. He wore a red X on his suit and casually approached the two.

Tim jabbed Jason in the stomach, spinning out of Jason's reach when he recoiled.

"This don't concern you." Jason said, a finger pointed at the masked man.

"Well you're in Gotham," the man said. "And I'm in Gotham. He's in Gotham. We're _all_ in Gotham, and anything that goes on in Gotham is my business."

"Who are you?" Tim butt in.

"Names Red X, kid." the man said, "And I ain't no hero, before you get too excited."

Jason laughed, "Yeah? Well you're some villain. What kind of villain helps out a hero?"

Red X shrugged, "I'm a free spirit."

"You're about to be a _real_ spirit," Jason spat, "Nobody comes and tells _me_ what to do."

The battle that ensued between the new guy and the brother Tim had only just met left him confused. This whole situation was… weird. He was tempted to run, as he often did when overwhelmed. Who was he to get in the middle of it? Red X was holding his own quite well, and it seemed that in a good half hour or so, he could easily pin Jason.

And that was before his powers kicked in.

At first, Red X just fought hand to hand, but then thin, red strands of some highly adherent material shot from the palms of his hands, trapping Jason's hands together.

"You think I need my hands to beat you?" Jason asked, before beginning an onslaught of kicks.

Red X said nothing, but he mockingly avoided Jason's kicks with what Tim could only assume was phasing and teleporting. One moment, he was in one place, but fading into hazy nothingness, he'd appear somewhere else. The fact that Red X didn't need his powers to beat Jason frustrated Jason more than the fact that Red X had powers in the first place.

But Tim didn't know Red X or anything about him, besides the fact that he was a 'sometimes hero' with odd abilities, which only reminded him of Selena. Another person who confused him. Though Tim didn't know Jason that well either, blood (in this case, Bruce) was thicker than water, and Tim couldn't let Red X take Jason down.

No matter how his and Jason's first meeting went, they were family.

So he jumped into the fight, which was his second big mistake of the night. Or maybe his third, he'd lost count.

Jason went to deliver a kick to Red X's stomach. Red X dodged back at the last possible second, though, and while Tim had been trying to break the two up, he hadn't prepared to block that kick.

So, Jason landed a roundhouse kick to Tim's stomach, and the nausea and threat to vomit blinded Tim so completely that he wasn't even aware he was falling until he hit something hard. Something in his shoulder _popped_ , he fell some more, and then he hit concrete hard. He lay on his face, dazed for a time he couldn't account for.

Why _shouldn't_ he have fallen off the roof of a building. His luck said it was inevitable, so why fight it? He ought to be used to things never going his way.

Tim tried to roll onto his back, but grit his teeth when he leaned on his right shoulder. Dislocated, most likely. A loud crash next to him made him jump, and a smashed air conditioner lay in shambles a foot from his head. He must of hit his shoulder on it on his way down.

"Who's the better Robin now?" Jason asked, landing into the alleyway gracefully, apparently more interested in gloating at Tim than finishing his fight with Red X. "Hmm?"

Jason was cutting the binds Red X had put on him with an old, vintage looking batarang.

"Jason," Tim croaked, "I never meant to replace you. And trust me, I haven't. No one's forgotten about you."

Best to play the victim in these types of situations.

"Lies!" Jason spat, "I'm back from the dead and the Bat can't even bother to show up himself."

"Batman… he's... busy." Tim said, and he said it in a way that he'd tried with every fiber in him, to convey that what he said was only half true. He wanted Jason to dig for answers. To ask a question Tim couldn't answer. _Something_. Anything to show the boy that something was not right and that further investigation was the only option.

He couldn't admit Batman was gone. Not here. Not out in the open. No one could know.

But Jason only shook his head.

"He's a freud. Your _all_ frauds. This was never a family. Bats never cared about any of us. He's just a businessman, and he goes through us kids like he does assistants."

"Jason-"

"Shut up!" Jason yelled, and Tim had enough sense not to push him.

"And you're worst of all." Jason said, walking up to him and kicking him onto his back.

Tim ground his teeth as he rolled over his shoulder.

"You don't deserve this." Jason said, leaning down and tearing the R off his chest.

And with that, Jason shot a grappling hook and disappeared into the night.

Using his good arm, Tim jumped up as fast as he was able (which was considerably slower than usual). He was in a bad part of town, full of bad kinds of people. He was hurt, and he was a target. Bad combination.

He poked at his shoulder, hissing, and confirming it's dislocation. If Batman was there, he'd of popped Tim's shoulder back into place with just one hand. He'd done it before. But Tim had never done it himself, though he'd seen Dick do it plenty of times. But smashing your shoulder against a wall, or just pushing or pulling it into the right place seemed so… savage.

With his left arm, Tim shot a grappling hook and pulled himself up the side of a building. Jason was long gone, Red X was too, apparently, but only for a short while, Tim suspected. Jason probably wouldn't go back to the cave, and Tim knew next to nothing about that new guy. Who knew, Jason might pay Dick a visit. After all, Dick was the only brother Jason was aware of. But, if his confrontation with Jason was any indication, Jason's visit to see Dick might not turn out to be very peaceful.

Dick could handle himself, though.

It was all very bitter-sweet. It sucked that Jason hated him. But it was awesome that he was alive. Years later, he just… reappeared. And in good physical condition no less. But Tim kept his viewpoint balanced. While it was an honor to meet the second Robin, Jason had still hurt him, and immediately, Tim opened his holo-glove and changed the passwords of the cave. He had the advantage that Jason didn't know his secret identity, but Jason did know where Tim probably lived (the manor, as did all previous Robin's), so it was only a matter of time.

As long as Tim kept his arm still, he wasn't in excruciating pain. Dislocations were one of the lesser pained injuries. But as careful as Tim was, he didn't get them very often. Though he'd felt worse, this was a different kind of pain, and he was having just a little trouble blocking it out like he so often tried to do when he got hurt.

After all, getting hurt was part of his job description. One had to be able to mentally get over the pain before he could begin healing. He'd learned that little fact from his studies in Paris, before being given the Robin job. But for now, Tim better justv get home and call it a night.

He had just hopped the Gotham National Bank when all the lights turned on in the building, multiple alarms blaring out in continuous rhythms. This late at night, the bank was obviously supposed to be closed. But in Gotham, the word 'closed' could be interpreted as a… friendly suggestion, to some.

A quick look through a high up window, and the first face (or faces?) Tim saw was none other than Two Face. Harvey Dent. That Bipolar Guy. The Half Monster. Whatever name he went by, Two Face was definitely a baller, and a psycho, and a top priority on Batman's list of people to apprehend.

How could he just let run home, knowing Two Face was here, robbing a bank?

Tim hesitated, though. He was in no condition to fight. But knowing Two Face, if Tim didn't intervene, innocent people would be killed for sure, be it cops or civilians.

Hurt or not hurt, Batman or no Batman; Tim was a hero, and heroes protected the innocent. He couldn't leave the situation as it was.

But he couldn't be stupid, either. His shoulder was painfully dislocated (and maybe he was a little hesitant to pop it back into place himself), the room was no doubt full of goons, and Two Face was predictably unpredictable. He needed to think smart, he needed to think fast, and he needed a plan.

According to his holo-glove, the bank had a good 157 people inside. That's 156 big, muscular, trigger happy thugs and a 50-50 obsessed Two Face. Tim had to do this right the first time, or he might find himself up against some serious trouble.

Pulling out his explosive gel, he made his way around the the bank's roof, avoiding the skylighting which took up most of it. The giant sky lighting of the room was meant to add some natural light to the bank during the day, but usually, it was only used by criminals to break in. No matter how many times Bruce Wayne suggested getting the glass roof replaced, no one did. This was the first time Tim was glad the public ignored his step-father.

Tim set a timer on his holo-glove to activate the blasts at a certain time, and then made his way back to the front of the building. He took a little more time in drawing his last image out of explosive gel: a giant bat shaped picture, sitting right above the room Two Face and most of his goons were.

Quietly, Tim opened the window and slid into the bank. He was careful to stay silent; should anyone see him, they'd see how he favored his right shoulder, and that would just be another problem he had to face.

Tim made himself comfortable on top of a painted venting shaft that ran across the bank's front, mentally making sure he was not too high and drew attention to the explosive-gel-bat he'd drawn above him. He crossed his legs, took a deep breath, and threw on his most giddy grin. Better to play like nothing's wrong.

"Hey, puke-face." Tim called, and the man look up at him, half his face serious, the other half in a burned half smile.

"It's the brat-kid!" one of the goons yelled, and Tim nearly smiled.

He logged the name in his mental list of corny names he'd been called.

"Where's your partner, kid?" Two Face asked, almost casually, "Haven't seen him around."

"Oh he's… around." Tim said, a bluffing laugh on his lips, as if he'd just told his own inside joke.

Villains took inside jokes so personally. It was hilarious to see them get worked up about it.

"The Creeper stole some goods downtown." Two Face said, "The Bat-freak didn't show up. What's that about?"

"Unfortunately, we don't all have open calendars like you, Dent." Tim said, waving his hand around nonchalantly, "Creepers never done any real harm."

"What about Scarface?" one of the goons spoke up, "He killed that one lady yesterday."

"Ain't like the Batman to let no lady die." another goon added.

"Yeah, well, it ain't like Batman not to smash your faces in when your trash talking him, either." Tim tiffed, before mentally shaking his head at losing his cool.

"Your bluffin' kid." Two Face said, the human side of his face twitching into a half smile, "The Bat's gone, ain't he? You're out here by yourself."

Stay cool. Don't panic.

"Wouldn't you _loooove_ that." Tim said, dramatically rolling his eyes. "Unfortunately for you, bad guys never get what they want."

Tim made a show of dramatically reclining back, folding his good arm behind his head, as his mental timer hit zero. The ground shook, the glass windows rattling, as the first explosion went off in the back. Thugs and goons screamed, running to the bank's front.

"He here, ain't he?" they asked.

"The bat's found us!"

Tim laughed, "Ya think?"

"Don't fall for it!" Two Face shouted, as the second explosion rocked the building, "The kid's smart. He planted those bombs to fool us!"

And the award for amateur detective goes to Harvey Dent.

"Suuuure, I did." Tim said, plastering on the biggest smile he could muster, "And, I guess I planted him, too, huh?"

Tim motioned up, and the moment everyone followed his gaze up, getting just the smallest glimpse of the Batman figure, Tim pressed the button on his belt. The glass exploded, and Tim swung his cape up over his head.

Before the glass even hit the floor, goons were crawling over each other to get out the front door and into the waiting cop cars. They'd rather face the law and jail than Batman.

"You fools!" Two Face was yelling, "We outnumber him. We can take him!"

First off, no they couldn't. Batman could have them all on the floor in seconds. Second of all, it didn't even matter. The sheer amount of thugs and goons was Two Face's downfall. As they pushed and shoved to get out, he was swept up in the wave and subsequently for him, he was carried right outside and practically into a police car.

Tim wouldn't lie, he was proud of himself for pulling that off.


	6. Eliza

Tim was smiling tremendously. Mask, cape, boots, and shoes discarded, he stared up at the bat-computer screen as it flew through identities at lightning speed. He'd connected the batcomputer to the wigify satellite. He'd hacked the watchtower and connected it's signal to the batcomputer. And now, the batcomputer was faster than ever, scanning for the DNA Tim had found at the pier.

Once getting back to the cave, he'd read a few pages in the medical book, just to make sure he didn't cause any further damage, and then he'd snapped his shoulder back into place. It had hurt, of course (he hadn't cried or anything, though (but there may have been a bit of a yell)). But it wasn't his first dislocation either, with some ice and painkillers, he would be fine.

Now, Tim reclined back in the swivel chair, waiting, eating a bowl of cereal. He would not lie, he wasn't a half bad cook. He'd spent countless hours just watching Alfred cook and clean (always with the secret agenda of waiting to see Alfred use the powers he had to have because no one is that awesome naturally). So far, thoughts of Alfred only made him lonely.

The screeching of bats, the drips of water, the hum of the electronics. Those few sounds bounced off the cave's waves, echoing back to him in muted successions. But it was still so quiet. No Alfred walking about. No Batman typing. Not even Dick humming, or flipping off of something, or typing on his laptop.

There was nothing but the sound of him. Just him, and the crunching of his cereal.

Maybe he should call Alfred. The thought crossed his mind for the millionth time. Alfred could be home by nightfall tomorrow. Then, Tim wouldn't be alone. He wouldn't face this dilemma by himself. He'd have help. A friend. Support. Assistance. Guidance. Guidance was what he yearned for the most. He didn't want to be alone. And he didn't want to lead himself. He wanted to be told what to do. He wanted to take orders. Anything if it meant taking that pressure off his shoulders. Anything, if it meant that if something were to happen, it wouldn't be his fault.

The computer beeped. A match was found for the woman from the warehouse.

But… she was considered a Jane Doe. Tim put down his cereal, squinting at the screen. He cross referenced the woman's DNA with hospital records, and nodded when he found a match.

"Eliza Randolph." he read, "California native. Gotham Memorial. Room 408. No information available. Wonderful."

Gotta love the very 'thorough' notations of the nurses.

It was 4:30. Still pretty late. Late enough to get a bit more work done, anyway. If he could be back in the cave by 5:30, he was positive he could go unnoticed to the public. Any normal day, Tim would wait for the following night. Batman didn't do much work during the day, and Tim followed suite. But this was an emergency. Batman's life could be in danger.

Tim was prying open the window to room 408 within 20 minutes. Cameras in this room and several other random rooms were cut, to avoid suspicion, and Tim had waited until the nurses finished making their rounds before he climbed in through the window.

The hospital room was dark, and just for the heck of it, Tim turned on his masks infrared. No balloons or teddy bears or cards or flowers in the room. Just a curtain drawn around a bed. Nothing unusual for a Jane Doe. And with the beating Eliza Randolph had taken, Tim was not surprised Eliaza could not remember who she was.

A clipboard sat at the foot on the bed, and Tim picked it up to examine it.

A few key words stood out; terminal, concussion, snapped ribs, labored breathing, found in river, bruised neck, unconscious.

Tim's shoulders slumped, and he backed up, sliding down against the wall across from the bed, sitting with his legs extended out. Terminal. That meant Eliza was dying, and there was little chance that she would wake up before. As bad as he felt for poor Eliza Randolph, he could not shake his own despair. She was his lead. His only lead. Now what was he going to do?

Tim wasn't sure how long he sat on the floor, trying to put things into a new perspective, but when he looked at the clock on the wall, it said 5:18, and he jumped up. The last thing he needed to do was get caught by a nurse or janitor.

But once Tim reached the cave, he sat against a wall on the ground again, just thinking.

Eliza Randolph was going to die. And that was tragic. But who was she, and what was she doing at the warehouse that night?

Tim did a search for her on his holo-glove. He had to do some digging, Eliza apparently was a pretty normal person. According to her files, she was 34. Single. 5'4. She worked for Shipping Co. which Tim knew was the company that owned the warehouses. Apparently, that night of the explosion, she was doing a routine check on the warehouses. Someone had reported seeing a suspicious character that night, and it was her job to investigate.

It made little sense to Tim why a company would send out one person, let alone a woman, to investigate suspicious activity at night. More than likely, that answer had to do with saving money, and Gotham had little concern over watching over the innocent. But still, the entire situation seemed sketchy.

Tim hacked further into her file, finding her call log had been misplaced and labeled CLASSIFIED. 2 seconds later and Tim was listening to Eliza's last call. It had taken place sometime around 2:15 am, right before the explosion at warehouse 14.

 _Hello? Joe? It's Eliza, are you nearby?_

 **Hey, Liz. Nah, I'm still over on Grover St. Boss won't let me leave until… our friend,** _ **here**_ **, pays up. It ain't cheap rentin' those storage units, y'know.**

 _Yeah, yeah, I know. But listen, I'm at warehouse 14 and… I don't know. Something strange is going on here._

 **It's warehouse 14, Liz. 'Course somethin' strange is goin' on. Why the boss send you out there, anyhow?**

 _I was on my way home, and I was the closest to the warehouses._

 **Boss probably rented the place out to some loon. You should probably leave.**

 _I know, I'm trying. But everywhere I go I see shadows. I think someone's following me. I think I should call the cops._

 **No way, Liz. Boss got some pretty dirty dealers out there tonight rentin' some units. You get the cops swarming the place and you're done for.**

Eliza had begun crying at this point.

 _What do I do, Joe? I'm scared!_

 **Just hang tight, Liz. I'll see if the boss'll let me come get cha.**

 _Ok, I'll wait here at 14, ok?_

 **A'ight**.

That was the last call Eliza had made, and at 2:28 am, the warehouse had blown. She must have been hiding somewhere near the blast and gotten hurt then. No way 'Joe' would have made it to the warehouses from Grover St before then. Joe most likely didn't know much about that situation.

Still, Joe could have gone after the explosion, and with inside knowledge on Shipping Co. he might have a little more information on what had caused the warehouse to blow, and who had been occupying the unit at the time.

Joe was definitely the next person Tim was going to visit. But it was a little passed 6 now, and Robin didn't do work out in broad daylight. But Tim couldn't waste a Saturday hanging around the manor doing nothing. He had to find Bruce.

Which meant it was time for a little undercover action.

* * *

Joe Punchamn. Address: 508 S Whitacker Ave. Married to a woman named Joyce, with a 8 year old daughter named Felicity. Weekend job: construction worker. Night job: Shipping Co. thug. Main duties include: 'convincing' non-paying customers to pay, overseeing 'expensive' and 'important' shipping orders, reporting suspicious activities at the warehouses.

Joe was the last person Eliza had spoken to, and while he was stone cold killer, he loved his wife, Joyce. Married men often sympathized with women, which was probably why Eliza had called him, and he'd agreed to come get her.

Tim would be careful about how he approached Joe. It wasn't like a hero to go undercover as himself. Usually, there was _some_ kind of disguise involved because one should _never_ connect their masked identity with their civilian persona. Best to keep the lives as separate as possible. But this was a delicate situation; one Tim Drake could handle better than any character Tim could play. And based on the nature of Joe's job, he could probably lean on either side of his personalities at any moment. One moment, he might be set on killing Tim for asking questions, the next moment, he could offer him milk and cookies.

According to the files, Joyce worked at a clothing shop Saturday mornings, and little Felicity had ballet from 10-11. So at 10:08, Tim parked his motorcycle on the curb at 508 S Whitacker Ave. He swung his book bag over his shoulders, tons of random papers and binders and folders he'd snatched from Bruce's office in his bag. He pulled his shades on and grabbed a binder from his bag, along with the resume Joe had offered 8 years ago, before working at Shipping Co.

He didn't feel professional. He didn't really look professional, either, clad in what he called a Rich Man's Party Suit (suit, tie, button down shirt), and converse sneakers (he had been running late and couldn't find his dress shoes). But, he was good enough. He'd make up some story about the sneakers if it came to it later.

He took in his surroundings as he made his way up to the door. Joe's house was a small ranch home. It sat on a little suburban looking street, with trees and everything, and a small front yard. A hoola hoop and a pair of pink skates lay in the grass.

Tim knocked, bouncing on his toes as he waited. He bit the side of his cheek. He tried to look bored. Uncaring. Nonchalant. Like this was something he did all the time. Like he would so rather be doing something else right now. Like this was no big deal.

A man answered the door, and Tim's first impression was that this man was huge. His files had said he was 6'7 and 276 pounds, but from down where Tim was looking (a measly 5'4 and 120 pounds), he looked way bigger. He was bald, and had tattoos from the tips of his fingers to his chin.

Tim swallowed.

"Joe Punchamn?" Tim asked, looking down at the file he held on the binder, like he needed to verify that he had the right person.

"Who's askin'?" Joe asked, and Tim smiled.

"Can I come in?"

Joe let Tim in, but only at Tim's insistence that he would only be a moment. After all, Joyce got home at 12, and Joe had to pick Felicity up at 11. But neither one of them said that.

"What you want, kid?" Joe asked.

"Mr. Punchamn," Tim said, "My name's Tim Drake-"

"Yeah, I know who you are."

"I'm here on behalf of Wayne Enterprises. See, your boss and my boss are thinking about a co-ownership on a few businesses."

Joe squinted his eyes, giving Tim a once over.

"I ain't think Wayne dealt with guys like my boss."

"Under normal circumstances, he doesn't." Tim said, "But a few of the business's needs aren't being... met, we'll say. I'm not at liberty to disclose which ones, but that's the situation."

"And what does this have to do with me?" Joe asked, "I ain't no boss or nothin'."

"Of course you aren't," Tim said, opening his binder and flipping through the random pages, "But, as a representative of Wayne Enterprises, I was sent to ask you some questions. Rest assured, you're not the only one. I've already spoken with a Rashon Bingerby. Michelle Carmicheal. Jennifer Standon. Cory Alcaby. And a Luke Highland."

Tim pretended to read those names off of the paper he'd flipped to.

"I don't know none of them." Joe said.

That's because none of them existed.

"They work in all parts of the company." Tim went on, "Anyway, Mr. Wayne… my step-dad, has some concerns about that explosion that happened a few days ago. See, the co-opt that Shipping Co and Wayne Enterprises has happens to depend heavily on the safety of cargo within those warehouses, and with one just blowing up… well, Mr. Wayne is hesitant to continue with this plan."

"I don't know nothing about that explosion." Joe said, "And I think it's time to leave, kid."

"No need to be defensive," Tim said, his hands and the binder up in defence. "I'm not here to blame a thing on you. In fact, I have evidence saying you were out working in another part of town that night. Believe me, Mr. Punchamn, your slates as clean as your job allows. Mr. Wayne likes to hear information from the workers of the company, though. People who will give an honest answer. But before you kick me out, you should know that your boss is 100% aware of my presence here, and approves of me asking these questions. If you deny me any answers… well, that'll be something I'll have to take up with him."

"Why would my boss send a little kid here to ask me all these questions?" Joe asked, "Wayne got millions of people to send out here."

"According to research," Tim said, "As a minor, I'm seen as less of a threat, and bosses are more likely to allow Wayne Enterprises to investigate corporations. Look,"

Tim set the binder on the floor and unbuttoned his shirt slightly.

"See?" he said, "No wires. No tape recorder. No secret gun. Nothing. Just me, a kid, a binder, and some questions. Me being Mr. Wayne's step-son, well, it shows that Mr. Wayne trusts you and your business."

"That's stupid," Joe said, "I could blow your head off right now and then you'd be dead."

"True." Tim said, "But your boss wouldn't like that very much, considering my death would most definitely make Mr. Wayne withdraw his proposal for an alliance. I don't think you'd want to make yourself a target of either one of those men. Especially considering you have a family of your own."

Joe was silent. Which was good. Besides the fact that Joe did mention shooting Tim in the head (good luck with that), things were going fine.

"Now," Tim said, "the questions. Concerning the night of the explosion, you were out on Grover Ave, correct?"

"Yeah," Joe said slowly, "I had some business to take care of."

"Right. Around 2:15, though, you got a call from a woman named Eliza Randolph, correct?"

Joe hesitated, "Yeah, she was down by the warehouses."

"14, to be specific."

"Kid, if you already know these answers, why are you-"

"Did you ever get to warehouse 14?"

Joe was quiet. Tim raised an eyebrow, though his heart was racing. He tried to retain that look of- I wish I was doing something else/It's saturday and I have to talk to you instead of my friends- kind of look.

"Mr. Punchamn…" Tim said.

"Nah," Joe said, "I was a half a mile away when my boss radio'd in. He was warning people that the cops would be showin' up soon. Said the warehouse had blown. I knew Eliza was at that warehouse, and I don't know, I assumed she was dead. So I went home."

Tim wrote scribbles on the page he'd opened up to. He needed to continue to appear professional. Or, somewhat professional at least.

"Last question, Mr. Punchamn." Tim said, and Joe visibly sighed in relief, "Who was occupying the warehouse at that time?"

Joe spit a little as he laughed, "Some lowlife thief. Red X, was his name. Little snarky dude. Black suit and a skull mask. I doubt he would be dumb enough to blow up the boss's warehouse, though."

Red X.

Tim smiled, "Mr. Punchamn, you have been an excellent host, and I thank you for your time today."

"Guess it wasn't so bad," Joe shrugged.

"And one more thing, Mr. Punchamn," Tim said, "due to privacy issues, your boss and Mr. Wayne agree that this meeting we've had should never be spoken of to anyone at anytime under any circumstances."

"Yeah, yeah." Joe said, "I know how all that goes. Wasn't gonna tell nobody anyhow."

"Good," Tim said, showing himself out.

"Hey, kid, will I get a raise, or somethin'?" Joe asked, "Y'know, for answerin' those questions?"

Tim shrugged with a tight smile, as he back up towards the front door, "Maybe."

Tim didn't let his guard down until he was blocks away on his motorcycle.

* * *

Red X. He had to be the same guy who saved him from Jason. But where did Red X fit into all of this? Again, why would Red X save him? What did he need that warehouse for? Did he blow it up? Did he know where Batman was?

New villains always brought an onslaught of questions. But Tim was already bogged down with unanswered questions. He didn't want anymore.

Red X was a very new villain, and Tim had no place to start looking for him other than the internet and web databases. He wasn't expecting to find much, though.

Once in the manor, Tim warmed up some macaroni Alfred had made a few nights ago. Tim was googling Red X while it warmed up. Nothing public was known about Red X, but just as Tim was about to dig deeper into the matter, the phone rang.

It was a call Tim had been waiting on for days. The few times Alfred went away, he usually called at least 5 times a day. Once before every meal, to make sure Tim and Bruce ate. Once in the morning to make sure the two were awake and aware of anything important for the day. And once at night, to see how the day had gone.

It was extremely odd that this was the first call.

"Heeey, Alfred." Tim said, picking up the phone.

"Master Timothy, I am calling to inquire about you and Master Bruce's well being."

"Oh… you know. Without you I barely managed to answer the phone."

"Well, you did a splendid job."

"How's England?"

"Positively phenomenal. I am having the time of my life."

There was something off about Alfred's voice. A quiver here and there told Tim Alfred was either lying, hiding something, or maybe, he was just cold. Alfred hated the cold and England was in the dead of winter at the moment. That must have been it.

"And how's your friend?" Tim asked, looping the phone's cord around his hand numerous times.

"Oh, he's quite well. It was only a small stroke, and he pulled through like a champion."

"Yeah, but only after you arrived. Coincidence?"

"I assure you, he'd pulled through alright with or without my help."

"Uh hmm."

"But, we are having quite the time talking about childhood memories. I have so many stories in these old English streets."

"You'll have to tell me some when you get back."

"It's a promise. But, I do sense something in your voice. You aren't sick, are you?"

"No, no. I'm fine."

"Broken bones?"

"No."

"Fractured ribs?"

"Nope."

"Concussion?"

"No."

"Sprain? Rupture? Tear?"

"No, no, and nope. I'm at the peak of health, Alfred."

"Right. Dislocation?"

Tim laughed, "But I'm fine now."

"You cannot lie to me Timothy, I know you too well."

"I wasn't trying to hide anything, promise. I'm fine now. I don't know how you knew, but I'm… I'm okay."

"See Dr. Leslie if it swells any more."

"I will, Alfred."

"And where is Master Bruce? I should like to say a few words to him as well."

"Oh… he's ugh… out?"

That totally sounded like a question.

"Out whe- hm? Oh, hold just a moment master Timothy. I'll be right back."

"Sure…"

Tim hit his forehead with his fist. _Think, think, think._ Did he want to tell Alfred the truth? Duh, of course he did. But _should_ he? Maybe, he wasn't sure. Alfred worked 24/7, 365 days a year. Cleaning, and cooking, and helping with homework, and mending things, and dusting, and a million other things. And then he was practically the glue holding Batman and all his affairs together. Was it fair to call Alfred back from his much needed vacation early? Is that what Bruce would want? It certainly would be what Alfred would want. But Tim couldn't ask either. This was _his_ decision.

Tim stared at his open computer showing the zero search results of Red X. Another dead end. Alfred would surely know what to do. Even though Alfred didn't go in the field, he'd been in the crime fighting business just as long as Bruce had, technically.

Tim needed help, and Alfred's experience was needed at the moment. If Bruce's life hadn't been hanging in the balance, Tim would leave Alfred out of it. But as much as Alfred deserved his time off, if something were to happen to Bruce, Alfred would blame himself… and Tim. And Tim couldn't have Alfred blame him for anything.

It was time he came clean.

"Master Timothy?"

"Yeah, I'm here, Alfred. Listen, I've got-"

"I have to go, Timothy. Quite the emergency at the moment. But call me the moment Master Bruce walks in through that front door."

"I will, Alfred. I promise. The very moment."

"Goodbye."

The line clicked before Tim even said goodbye.

Tim was only half comforted at the moment. He never broke a promise. Not unless he was completely physically incapable of it. He hated broken promises and made conscious strides to avoid them. Alfred knew that too, and he would have to find it strange if Tim didn't call back to tell him when Bruce got home.

It would certainly make him suspicious.

Tim would call in the morning, though. Come clean, and eagerly await Alfred to return home. That was a relief, at least.

After eating, Tim went down to the cave to do more digging on Red X. So far, it seemed that Red X would have the most information, so it was imperative that Tim find the man. But there was absolutely nothing on Red X anywhere. Not in the GCPD files. Not in any surrounding files. Not in the bat-computer system. The Teen Titans had never faced him (because Dick would surely log about him if he had). There was just nothing, nowhere.

With nothing else to go by, Tim grabbed the Robin suit he'd worn when he fought Jason. It was ripped, shredded, and a little stiff from the now dried blood. Tim took it to the investigation table and began running analysis on every speck, dust particle, hair, and grain of dirt. Red X had to have left some form of DNA for Tim to follow.

Jason's DNA was quite easy to find. It was all over Tim's suit, almost as apparent as Tim's own DNA. But there was no other personal DNA to be found. Dust from the Wayne Enterprises air vents, some grime from the houses he'd hopped around in when trying to lose his stalker, dirt from the alleyway he'd fallen into, soot from the rooftops he'd hopped. Every granule particle told the story of where he'd been that night. But nothing pointed to Red X.

And then Tim spotted it. A barely visible morsel of red on the green of his tunic caught his eye. It was the color of fresh blood, and could easily go missed, but by chance, Tim saw it out his peripheral.

Tim tightened the white gloves he had on, and with a pair of tweezers, he picked up the speck of red and dropped it into a test tube.

"Xenothium..." Tim identified, looking at the molecular makeup of chemical on his holo-glove. "Why would Red X have xenothium on his suit?"

Then it hit Tim. The phasing. Those glowing X's. Tim had just assumed Red X had had powers (in his line of work, having super abilities was more likely than actually having an actual skill), but those red articles and that phasing could easily, if not likely, be created and performed from xenothium compounds.

While xenothium was suitable as a high-output power source, it was also highly unstable. And also very rare. Red X had used a good amount to detain Jason, and that belt he'd used (where the xenothium was more than likely stored) was probably almost on E. If Red X wanted to do any more 'activities' with that suit, he'd need to get a refill on xenothium.

And in Gotham, Tim knew the perfect place to get some.

But first, Tim needed to gear up. With what he had in mind, things needed to be executed perfectly.

Going through the things he had borrowed from Dick, Tim set to work on one of the mini trackers Batman used all the time. It was already undetectable, but with bits and pieces from Dick's bike, the tracer could now only be linked to Tim and absolutely unseen, unknown, and undetected by anyone else. It's ability to be traced back to Tim was dangerous, which was why Batman didn't use the technique. But Tim was desperate, and if this was the only way, then he'd risk it.

But, Tim wasn't an idiot, and with the risk on the line, he decided to dock his suit up a bit as well. He grabbed a fresh suit and began removing and replacing all the homing, GPS, and tracking equipment from it. His suit was practically dead to all outside signals by time he finished with it.

In the hero business, going out without any way for someone to track and find you was dangerous. But Tim was taking plenty of risks, so this was but one more.

He sprayed the soles of his shoes for added stealth ability, and with that, he mounted his bike and sped off.

* * *

Now, Tim waited. He'd left the bait, and all he had to do was wait. It was quarter to 12, and at that time of year, quite dark. So as Robin, he sat on the edge of the rooftop awaiting his guest. Xenothium was kept in a small quantity at Wayne Ent. and Tim had just swiped all of it. He did, though, leave a small note for Red X.

 _Meet me where we fought._

 _-R_

Only Red X would know what that meant. The rooftop Tim, Red X, and Jason had fought on looked completely indifferent. The air conditioner Tim had smashed into was still in shambles below, but besides that, the rooftop was clear. Not even evidence of xenothium based weapons. Xenothium was biodegradable, as dangerous as it was, and it had apparently disappeared.

Not even a half hour passed before Tim heard soft feet land on the roof.

"This is how you repay me, kid?" came an irritated voice, "I save your butt and you steal my goods?"

"Stealings bad." Tim said, turning to the taller man, "But I'll let you slide with at least a week's worth of Xenothium if you answer some of my questions."

Red X laughed, "I don't make deals with kids."

"What if I told you Batman sent me?" Tim challenged.

"Then I'd say screw him for making a little boy do his dirty work."

Tim sighed, "I'm not a kid, OK? I'm old enough to be out here, I earned my right to fight."

"I'm gonna need to see some ID, then." Red X joked, and Tim furrowed his eyebrows.

The only person he knew who joked in completely serious situations was Dick. It was a trait he had once thought was rather rare given the area he lived him.

Guess he was wrong…

"Look, I just want to know why you rented that storage warehouse from Shipping Co." Tim said, "And why you'd blow it up right after. You know that's bad business for them and that you're most definitely on some hit list now, I'm sure."

"Free spirit." Red X said, repeating himself and shrugging. "I do what I want-"

"As long as it benefits you." Tim said, finishing his sentence, "You're not a hero, and you're not a villain. You're just selfish. So what did you get out of that? Money? Did someone pay you to do it?"

"You're real keen, kid. But I've got supplies of Xenothium in other places. I don't need Wayne's, it was just conveniently in the neighborhood."

Tim sighed, he didn't want it to have to come to this, but he knew it would.

He dropped down into a fighting stance, squaring his shoulders, one of which was still sore and swollen.

"Then I'll fight you for the information." he said, and Red X literally took a step back in surprise, the whites of his masked eyes widening.

"You're kidding." he deadpanned, "You saw how easily I fought Jason, didn't you?"

"Sure," Tim said, "But I'm not Jason, and you're low on Xenothium."

"I'm not fighting with you, kid. That's petty stuff."

Tim waited until Red X turned to leave before he charged at the man. He had to make this look good. He had to make Red X think this was real.

A roundhouse kick at lightning speed clipped Red X's shoulder before the man could swing to the side to defend himself. The onslaught of barrages that Tim threw next had Red X backing up to the edge of the roof.

"Easy, kid." Red X said, dodging on the floor, "I said I didn't want to fight."

Tim saved his breath, continuing to fight. He clipped Red X's stomach before finally landing an uppercut to the man's jaw.

Tim could read body language pretty well. When half your opponents wore masks, that was kind of required. And from Red X, Tim got confusion. The man was hesitant. He couldn't figure out why Tim was doing this, when clearly, it was going to get him nowhere. Having no other choice to fight just to get away, Red X engaged with a slow onslaught of punches aimed at Tim's ribs.

Tim was going to favor his hurt shoulder, there was no doubt about it, he just was. It hurt too bad for him not to, so he prepared himself mentally to get it kicked or punched deliberately. Crooks and criminals did that. They exploited your weaknesses.

And yet, Red X seemed to be making a conscious effort not to hit Tim's shoulder.

Strange behavior, one that suggested Red X had to be someone Tim knew in the past, but it was not a pressing matter at the moment. Red X was a strange individual, for sure, but now that Tim had him fooled, he needed to get the man to leave with the false security that he could go wherever he wanted to without being followed.

Tim took a deep breath before dropping his guard. As he expected, just a split second of being out the game earned him a hard jab in the face. Tim tried not to look too dramatic as he spun and fell to the ground on his face.

Hesitant footsteps meant Red X actually wanted to know if Tim was alright, which was, yet again, strange. But Red X's better judgement won out and by time Tim sat up to look around, Red X was gone.

The tracker Tim had made was virtually undetectable, still, he followed an unknowing Red X with at least 5 blocks between them. The man hadn't even realized that Tim had fought him with the sole purpose of attaching the tracker to him. Fighting had allowed Tim to get the tracker firmly onto the inside of the cape of the man.

But now, Tim simply followed at a distance as Red X hopped rooftops. He would not be surprised if Red X lived in some rundown shack in the outskirts. Tim tried to prepare himself to be led to another dead end, because, let's face it, that's where all his other leads led him. He wouldn't get his hopes up, so he wouldn't be crushed when nothing came out of this.

But he wouldn't let this discourage him, either. He couldn't. Bruce was counting on him, wherever he was, and Tim would not let him down. If Red X turned out to be nothing, then at least Tim could look forwards to seeing Alfred. When he'd call Alfred in the morning, Tim expected he'd get a stern talking to about keeping secrets. And when Alfred got back to the manor, that stern talking to would continue. But Tim would take it, and that would be that. Then, the two of them could work on finding Bruce.

Who knew, maybe Alfred might even be proud of him for holding down the fort. He'd took on Two Face. Hacked into numerous accounts, satellites and buildings without getting caught. He'd took on Jason Todd (and didn't die). He'd given a public address to Gotham and kept the Wayne name from being tarnished. And, no one knew Batman was missing yet.

All and all, Tim was proud of that. But he was tired of being alone, and he was tired of dead ends.

Tim's holo-glove beeped once, as Red X dropped underground.

Well, he wasn't headed to the outskirts. Tim waited a few minutes before dropping down to the ground and following the path Red X had taken.

A dingy, half collapsed abandoned building lay in front of Tim. Tim was used to abandoned buildings. They didn't scare him, but they did creep him out a bit. Pressing a button on his holo-glove, Tim masked his form completely. Someone who used xenothium had to be good with electronics and chemistry. Tim was taking no chances, and made sure he was entering that building completely undetected. He took a deep breath before entering the building through the same window Red X must have used.

Tim was careful to observe the floor. He was pretty good at avoiding the squeaky boards in old floors.

The holo-glove led Tim deeper into the dark building. Tim turned on the infrared in his mask, and continued on. The holo-glove stopped Tim in the kitchen of the old building and led him… to the stove.

Tim checked his holo-glove twice to be sure, and when it's answer didn't change, Tim opened the stove. But the stove appeared to be just what he'd expected.. a old, ancient, broken down, burnt and disgusting stove.

Tim sighed as he set his holo-glove to scan the stove for any electrical currents, DNA, or shallow compartments. The glove beeped with the recognition of numerous electrical outlets, and Tim rolled his eyes, setting to work hacking into the stove.

But, Tim was impressed. For someone Red X's size, fitting into this stove took a tremendous amount of flexibility. Which was funny, because the only person Tim knew who was that flexible was…

In a burst, Tim stood up from his crouched position. His eyes wide and mind racing, he couldn't slow his breathing or heart rate. Yet still, he ran out of the building, and all the way home.


	7. Conclusion

Tim was searching his room furiously. He scattered books on the floor, pulled his blankets off his bed, ripped his curtains down, went through his medicine cabinet, pulled up parts of the carpet, ripped paint off his walls, threw his dresser drawers onto the floor.

And then he found them. 7 in total. Some in the ceiling above his bed. Some hidden in the window sill. Some in his mattress. Some wrapped in clothes he never wore.

Trackers. Tracers. Cameras. Bugs. Every form of spying equipment was hidden in Tim's room. And one by one, he smashed them with a pair of his sneakers.

He paced his now trashed room, running his hands through his hair, thinking. Thinking as hard as he could as he tried to recall absolutely everything that had happened since, and even before, Batman had gone missing. The harder he thought, the angrier he got.

Batman going missing. A mostly empty warehouse blowing up. A Jane Doe in the area, one who Tim happened to find in a coma and unable to speak. Alfred's absence. The lack of clues and witnesses. Dick's uneasiness, his weirdness, his words. What was it he had said at one point? Guys like them all go through some kind of test. A _test_! Was Bruce freaking kidding him?!

Tim was seething. He was seeing nothing but red. How could Bruce do that to him? How could he involve Dick and Alfred in it? Alfred didn't call nearly as often as he would have, and he wouldn't have been so short with Tim either. Dick was most definitely Red X, only stepping into Tim's life to save him from certain death (Jason) and to screw with his head, maybe throw him off track every now and then. Bruce had been trailing Tim from the start, hence his 'stalker' whom he could never find or locate.

Tim had suffered for an entire _week_. He was alone. And afraid. And it turns out Bruce was just testing him? If Tim was thinking straight, if he were calm, he might have thought of some bitter way to get back at them. Fake his own death, or something. But as it were, he changed into civilian clothes, got on his bike, and rode straight back to that abandoned building.

He was nearly certain of his theory, but he needed to be sure, and he needed to be sure _now._

He clammered into the building noisily, not caring about staying quiet. Without even hesitating, he opened the stove and climbed in. Almost at once, the stove began lowering, like a small dumbwaiter, and Tim crossed his arms as he went down. His hands were shaking he was so furious.

The stove finally stopped and he climbed out into what could only be described as another batcave. But this one was much lighter than the one Tim was used to. This cave obviously wasn't a 'cave', instead, it was a room painted blue, computers and screens, and gadgets, and suits everywhere. Every inch of the room seemed to be operated by some form of machinery.

It was like Tim's dream home. He wondered how long everyone but him knew about it.

"Look harder!" came a shout, and it was a voice Tim felt as if he hadn't heard in ages.

"Bruce, he isn't at the manor-" Dick was saying, "I've checked all the cameras. The ones in his room are… they're _gone_."

"I will search the street cameras." Alfred said.

"He didn't go into the cave, though." Dick said, "He didn't change into his suit. What would he be doing out in civilian clothes?"

"I. Don't. Care." came Bruce's grit voice, "Just. Find. Him."

Tim followed the voices further into the hideout, and around a bend. All three men were crowded around several computer screens, each of them typing furiously. Several of the computer screens were black and buzzing with lost signal flashing in the bottom corner. That must have been the ones Tim had smashed. Other screens showed Gotham's streets, different rooms in the manor, as well as Wayne Enterprise. His vitals were displayed on some of the computer monitors, but at the moment were showing _**no host detected**_. They'd even bugged his suit!

Every move, step, and breath Tim had taken was monitored, examined, and probably logged in some file Batman kept under his mattress. But at the moment, he wasn't on any of the screens or monitors, he wasn't spotted in the streets, he wasn't spotted in the manor, and the cameras in his room had been destroyed. It was like he'd dropped off the face of the planet.

Well what do you know, he did kind of fake his own death. Or at least an abduction.

"Maybe you should give him a call, Alfred." Dick said, half turning to the butler, "You know, just check in on him again."

"Make it short," Bruce said, "Don't give him a chance to tell you anything."

Alfred sighed before picking up a phone and dialing Tim's cell.

Tim's pocket vibrated as the lighthearted jingle went off, filling the otherwise silent room. Tim didn't (couldn't) move, but the other three men whipped around behind them to stare at Tim in varying combinations of a confusion, surprise, and fear. Alfred showing mostly confusion, Dick showing mostly fear, and Bruce, strange as it was, showing surprise.

They were all a picture Tim wished he could move to take. It would be wonderful blackmail later.

Unsurprising, Dick was the first to speak.

"Timmy?" Dick said, staring at him.

In a single move, Dick was on his knees in front of Tim, gripping him tightly by both his arms, as if checking to make sure he was really there.

"Timmy, you just vanished…" Dick said, and it was evident that he made no effort in masking how concerned he'd really been.

Dick went to pull him into a hug, but Tim pulled away from him at the last moment. He noted that throughout all the years, and all the millions of times Dick had hugged him, no matter what the situation was, Tim had never refused him a hug.

Dick's hurt face said he hadn't missed that fact either.

"Master Timothy-" Alfred started, but for the first time, didn't seem to know what else to say.

Tim stared past both men, looking only at Bruce. For an entire week, he'd thought of nothing but the man. Nothing but the man and his safety. Every second that had went by, Tim had felt more and more like a failure. Every heartbeat he had, had seemed unfair, because at any moment, he had had no idea whether Bruce's heart had been beating or stalling or convulsing or not. Everyday, he'd collapsed further and further into a chaotic hole. He had no idea if he'd ever see Bruce again. He didn't know if his inexperience and pride had cost him a mentor and a father. _Another_ father.

But right then, standing there, looking at the man who had caused him so much grief (a knowing stoic look on the man's face), there was very little relief in Tim. No sigh of reassurance or consolation. Yes, Bruce was alive. But at what ethical cost but his own?

"Timmy, you have to listen to me-" Dick began, his voice frantic and all but cracking. "I didn't… we weren't…"

'Listen to me', he'd said. This situation… it was clearly very distressing to Dick. He and Tim were close, after all. Running the Teen Titans, Dick didn't have anyone to smother and baby and hug in Jump City. He had to be a leader there, a strong and determined leader. With Tim, Dick could be as kind and gentle and smothering as he wanted to be. Tim had never minded. He didn't doubt that Dick had objected to Bruce's plan at the start, but the suggestion and the intention of being Tim's visible protector, no doubt, had lured him in against his will. Dick was not pleading for Tim to understand _them_ , he didn't plead for Tim to forgive _the group-_ he was pleading for Tim to forgive _him_. If anyone knew how much this would all affect Tim, it was Dick and Alfred.

Unfortunately, Tim was not quite in the mood, nor emotional placement, to give in to Dick's pitiful plea for forgiveness. In fact, Tim was not really in the mood to deal with any of them. So for the second time that night, he ran off, getting back to the stove-dumbwaiter-elevator thing and repeatedly pressing the button to raise him back to street level. He ran outside, jumped on his bike, and didn't stop moving until he'd locked himself in his room.

His room was no cleaner than it had been before. But even though his mattress was half on the floor and half on it's frame, Tim threw himself down on it anyway. There was no reason to scream or cry or throw a tantrum, so Tim didn't. Instead, he just lay face down and thought. That was all there was to do- just think. Think about all that had happened in the past week and reflect.

Tim's holo-glove was discarded in the corner, where he'd tossed it when he'd come in to destroy the bugs and cameras in his room. Tim didn't move though. With their cover blown, Bruce and the others had come home. The holo-glove was just alerting him that someone had entered the cave.

He pondered what kind of peace offerings they would come with, now. Alfred would probably make something drool worthy to eat- after all, Tim had been living on leftovers, cereal, and microwavable food for a week. After becoming accustomed to 5 star food at least twice a day, plus snacks and dessert, the week had been hard on his stomach and appetite. He felt at least 10 pounds lighter.

Dick would come with everything imaginable. Whenever he messed up, he went through stages of forgiveness. It always started with something material. Some gift or another (probably electronic) that Dick hoped Tim would love enough to instantly forgive the boy. Tim usually forgave Dick way before that stage, and had never been presented with the other stages of Dick's forgiveness. But Tim had heard of Dick go as far as stage 5 before, back when Jason had lived at the manor. The stages leading up to 5 being: his best attempts at cooking some dessert, going out on patrol without Batman (a good time guaranteed), aiding in doing something possibly illegal (as long as no one found out or got hurt), getting exclusive tickets to some concert, or "borrowing" some prototype from Wayne Enterprises.

Dick couldn't stand people close to him being upset with him. But Tim was fully prepared to turn down every stage of peace offering Dick could offer. Tim would not be swayed to forgive before he was good and ready. At this point, all he wanted was to be left alone.

Bruce wouldn't even offer condolences for Tim's grieving/suffering for the week. According to the Dark Knight, this is probably what Tim had signed up to do. This was part of Tim's job. If Tim was going to be a hero, sacrifices and tragedies like this was both inevitable, and expected. Bruce was probably disappointed it took so long for Tim to figure it out.

Three days passed, and Tim neither moved to get up and go to school, nor did anyone suggest it. Alfred left Tim's favorite meals outside of his locked door three times a day, along with beverages and dessert every night. Tim was too hungry to not eat them, and he had longed for that food for too long not to eat every bite on his plate.

Didn't mean he was coming out of his room, though.

Dick was on stage 2 of his peace offerings, sitting at Tim's window suggesting patrol every other hour of the night. But Tim just kept his blinds closed, leaving Dick stuck on that stage and seemingly at a loss on how to move on to the next one, since Tim refused to talk to him.

Tim hadn't seen or heard from Bruce since the night he'd seen them all down in the basement of that building. Which was not surprising to Tim. Bruce never apologized, because Bruce was never wrong. According to Bruce, anyway.

By the next morning, though, Tim was tired of sulking and throwing his silent tantrum. He was not one to hold on to petty problems. He'd forgiven Dick and Alfred within a day of his finding out, though he didn't say anything. And he was tired of sitting around his junky room all day and doing nothing. You don't keep a Robin in a cage. They need room to fly and flip and soar and breathe fresh air.

The first thing Tim did was open his door. He usually kept it at least cracked, but the open door wouldn't go unnoticed by Alfred, and that was the person Tim had forgiven first. Tim then sat on the floor by his bookshelf and began arranging his books back into it's perfectly neat and organized positions. With his room such a mess, Tim hadn't been able to sleep at all. His thoughts sometimes reflected his surroundings, and you can't think yourself to sleep if you can't think at all. A clean room would be welcome, come the night.

Tim had been expertly making his bed when Alfred had brought him cookies and milk for a snack. The man had been all smiles as he set the food down on Tim's table. Tim returned the smile. Neither of them had spoken, but just like that, the two were back to how they'd always been.

That night, Tim had dressed in the suit he'd left in his room, and had waited patiently for Nightwing to swing by. Nightwing had nearly slipped off the windowsill when he saw Tim had been waiting for him.

Their patrol had begun silently, neither of them speaking as they wordlessly beat up the crooked and saved the innocent. But Dick was not one to keep quiet for long, whether he was in suit or not, and before long, the two were back to their usual banter. Though Tim had to first listen to at least a half hour of how sorry Dick was, and how Dick had been against it from the start (which Tim had known anyway), and how Dick had been there every step of the way, and how weird the whole Jason thing was, and how proud Dick was of Tim. It was unusual at first, not working alone like he had all week, but Tim got over that hurdle quickly. Besides, Tim and Dick were brothers. And they fought all the time. The best thing to do was to continue on like nothing had happened.

The next night, Tim was dressed as Robin and waited patiently for his brother to swing onto his windowsill. Now that the two were on good terms, Tim could go into detail about the week, explaining his methods and thoughts about everything. But no hero in blue and black approached, that night.

Instead, Tim's holo-glove got a call-signal, and he made his way towards it on his own. He ended up on a roof near the abandoned building that the 'fake cave' was at. But instead of finding Nightwing nearby, staking out some drug deal, Batman stood at the edge of the building. He had his back to Tim, his cape billowing in the windy night every bit as majestic as the newspapers said.

But Tim didn't see the solemn beauty in the resplendent representation of hope that Batman was. Instead, Tim only saw that torn shred of cape that he'd managed to occupy from the exploded warehouse. He could only recall that lonely, horrific feeling that his wasted time could mean someone he cared abouts death. That feeling that he might have just lost his father for the second time.

Tim shook his head, making his way over to the man. He fully expected to find the Dark Knight looking down at some secret thug meeting or some thief going through his steals. Tim turned his holo-glove on dim and gave the area a scan as he approached Batman. No doubt, Batman felt fully justified in his actions, so Tim was prepared to get back to work.

But his glove flashed a pale red, signifying no one in their immediate proximity. Tim looked down into the alleyway Batman stood over, imagining his glove having made a mistake, but the alleyway was silent and still.

"What are we looking for?" Tim asked, looking up the towering man.

Tim had nearly forgotten how tall and imposing Batman was when one was right next to him.

"Nothing." Batman said, and Tim raised an eyebrow.

He ran some more checks on his holo-glove of the area. No radiation, no recent steals in the area, no one close by, no hidden caches of money, no villain's hideout- there was nothing of worth anywhere nearby. Except, of course, that secret Bat-Hideout. But that wasn't a pressing matter.

"Robin," Batman began, "How long were you alone?"

Tim took a mental step back. Truthfully, he hadn't expected the man to acknowledge 'the incident' at all. Probably ever, actually.

"A week." Tim said.

"How many villains did you catch?"

"A bunch of petty ones and Two face. 156 of his goons."

"How much money did you secure?"

"About twelve thousand, I guess."

"And you did that with a dislocated shoulder?"

Tim narrowed his eyes. He wasn't sure where all of this was going.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "But you know all of that already. You watched. You were probably there."

Batman nodded, "In a week, you were able to stop 52 muggings, 17 rapes, and 61 thieves. You stopped Two Face and his thugs dead in his tracks with a dislocated shoulder. You broke into the most tightly secured building in the world, hacked one of the most guarded satellites, and bypassed the security of the Watchtower, without anyone knowing the wiser. You gave a public address to the world, calming the qualms of billions of skeptical people, saving the Wayne name, and building. No one suspected that Bruce Wayne was missing, and no one truly suspected Batman was missing. You solved my disappearance so well that you tracked it down to the source completely. You went undercover and didn't get killed. And… you made it to school on time."

Tim was silent, a million things flying through his mind at once. Had he really given a public address to the world? He'd thought it was only to Gotham. But more importantly, did Batman just say all the things he'd done right? No lecture about his sulking? No notes about his sloppy form, or poor detective skills, or beat down from Jason?

"Wait…" Tim said, shaking his head in confusion, "... _what_?"

Batman finally turned to look at Tim, and to Tim's amazement (and bewilderment) Batman pulled his cowl back, revealing a _nearly_ smiling Bruce.

"I'm proud of you, Tim." he said, "I chose that particular week to test you for a reason. I worked the whole family hard a few weeks ago for a reason: we were getting the worst crooks out of the streets for your test. Your week was supposed to go smoothly. It was supposed to be easy. I secured Wayne down so that there was no problems. But I think we both know my best intentions didn't quite go… as planned. You dealt with much more than I had intended you to."

That…. was actually a relief. Batman- Bruce- had worked hard to make sure Tim was safe while he was on his own. But he trusted and believed in him enough not to interfere when things got tough. He knew Tim could handle himself. Despite the fact that a few questions had been raised in his 'absence'. There was Jason to deal with. That Damian kid to deal with. Most likely more to explain about the Wigify. Two Face would be back with a vengeance (as always). A lot had gone unsolved while Tim was in charge.

"You're so much… different, than your brothers." Bruce said, looking out over the horizon. Tim suspected he was thinking about the differences between Jason and Dick. "You're smart. You think hard. You don't rely on your abilities to get you out of situations. But you're timid, too. You're shy, and you think too much about everything."

Of course Bruce knew that. Tim knew it, too, but he was hoping that was a fact he could go through life avoiding.

"But you've grown in the past week." Bruce said, and Tim's head snapped to him in surprise, yet again. "You've got a long way to go before I'm comfortable leaving you or sending you out on your own, but I've seen your confidence grow, your skills sharpen, your tactics change from things I've taught you to things that work and that fit you, whether you've seen the changes or not. Those changes were not something I could teach you. They were things you had to figure out on your own. That's why I planned this test. It was time for you to advance, to grow. This was like your rite of passage into a new era."

Tim looked down at his shoes. He was still pissed off. Still angry at Bruce, still a little angry at Alfred and Dick. He was still seething and loathing that week he'd been on his own. He hated that panic he felt and that feeling of being at fault should he make the wrong decision.

But he understood, too. Now, he could not fathom the 'giant' changes Bruce had seen in him. But maybe later, when his triple axle flip with a double spin was adjusted to a sweep of the legs and a kick-flip, maybe then, he'd notice a change. Maybe then, he'd appreciate the changes that Bruce said had occurred. Maybe.

"Ok," Tim said, looking up at Bruce, "I understand the 'why'. We'll never do this again, though, right?"

Bruce only smiled, pulling down his cowl, "Who knows with the Batman…"

Third person. Tim _hated_ when people spoke in the third person, and Bruce knew that too, hence the smile.

Batman shot a line on his grappling hook, and took off into the sky. Tim watched him go for a moment, savoring the relief of no longer being in charge. Even though he hadn't really been alone that week, he'd thought it, and there was relief in having Batman back now. Relief in having his father back.

If this was his rite of passage, he was pretty sure he'd passed.

* * *

And finished.

Hope you all enjoyed, and sorry for the major lateness. Review!


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